


Recovery None

by RenaRoo



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Relationship and Character Reveals to Come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 61
Words: 334,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4842050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenaRoo/pseuds/RenaRoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Canon Divergence AU] When the Mother of Invention crashed, Project Freelancer was in shambles, its surviving agents scattered, its equipment stolen, and an impending investigation into the crash from the UNSC was on the horizon. To regain control of the deeply corrupted program, the Director established a new unit from his remaining supplies -- the Recovery Unit. </p><p>Three former Freelancers were chosen for particular tasks: Zero is to hunt down and destroy the Meta, One is to investigate and recover stolen or missing equipment, and Two is to take down AWOL former agents.</p><p>Of course, no one’s motivations are truly what they seem...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I have been very excited about working on this for a very long time, and also incredibly nervous about whether or not I’m going to be able to pull it all off. We’ll see! Hopefully if you’ve read my other work, Divided, you’ll have an idea that we’re getting ready for a long haul. : ) Hope everyone enjoys it!

_Zero..._

The sounds of harmonic screaming just behind her eyeballs was something she wouldn’t forget for the rest of her life. 

They were wailing, crying for her, attempting to call out, to get her to move, to warn her of danger, and yet all she could do after the crash, after fighting Tex, after breaking bone after bone through the breaching of the Mother of Invention, was lay and moan in the snow. Eta and Iota were no help with the way they hummed and screamed and cried in the confides of her brain. 

She could see Maine’s armor, hear the way his boots crunched through the snow as he quickly approached her. 

_Run_ her AI whispered. _Run away, Carolina._

But she couldn’t. With a great amount of effort, she drug herself, one splintered elbow at a time, delirious and unable to see the literal cliff before her. 

Maine never halted his own approach, closing in and striking fear into the AI that Carolina simply couldn’t understand. Wasn’t it _Texas_ who had been after the AI? Isn’t that what they told her?

He closed in, the twin AI screamed until her feet were off the ground.

“NO!” Carolina roared at him.

_It’s the only way. We have to. She’ll die if we don’t. We’re sorry, Carolina.  
_

Her mind was racing nearly as fast as her heart, suddenly she felt a click. She didn’t understand and yet she did all at the same time. 

_We’re sorry,_ they whispered. _We love you, Sunshine._

Carolina’s heart stopped, eyes widening in horror at the last thoughts the dual AI placed in her head before she felt the click of her helmet, the forceful and against _all_ AI protocol ejection from her implants. The pain was impossibly searing and awful. The snap between their connections deafening long before the loosened helmet was ripped from her head.

She screamed, kicked, roared with all her dwindling might as Maine’s broad hand reached behind her head and yanked at the ejected implants with enough force to break the skin around them anyway. 

There was snow beating down on her and yet Carolina’s face was hot from the throbbing pain just before Maine flung her -- _her_ , his friend -- and tossed her over the cliff facing, into the canyon. 

If there was screaming for her, Carolina couldn’t hear it, her body freezing, a delayed suit suspension locking her down as she tumbled down the rocks. Eta and Iota locked her up -- they locked her up for impact.

They called her “Sunshine.”

Carolina sunk into the snow below, eyes rolling back into her head. She felt broken, defeated, and lied to. 

Eta and Iota were gone. Maine and York betrayed the program. The Director’s favoritism toward Tex had doomed them. C.T. died for nothing. 

They called her “Sunshine” -- and Carolina realized only in that moment that she had no idea who they were. 

She didn’t truly feel the time elapse in the snow. She only felt the way her body grew colder, locked down in a battered armor, and measured by that. She felt dead by the time others gathered around her body and began to move her form.

Someone among them sounded almost surprised to find her breathing. 

“Get her to the medical ward.”

“It’s destroyed, Sir.”

“Then make a new one. We aren’t going to lose her.”

“The AI are removed.”

“That is _truly_ unfortunate.”

For reasons she couldn’t begin to explain, Carolina felt even more betrayed by those harsh words than she had during the crash. And it was that, and the hum of “Sunshine” her mind closed off to. 

* * *

_One..._

North and South took off and a part of Wash had wanted to follow -- their bickering and the subsequent alarms and sirens were quickly taking their toll, though. 

“Fuck, my head,” he groaned, grabbing the sides of his head and curling in on his side. Everything was throbbing. His heart felt like it was jumping into his throat. 

If what North had said was right and Tex had broken back onto the ship, Wash wished desperately that she would hurry and leave or get caught so that the blaring noises and flashing lights would go away. 

He screwed his eyes shut, gripping to his own hair tighter to somehow keep his skull together, wondering what Tex could want when it felt like his mind had suddenly exploded.

His eyes blew wide open, vision blurring. 

“Allison,” tumbled from his lips. He felt like he was in a haze, weakly rolling off the cot, mind throbbing. “Tex... Allison...”

The thoughts of another person were still ricocheting in his skull as he tried to move toward the hospital door. He couldn’t think straight -- they were such foreign ideas, feelings, _memories_ \-- so obviously not his own and yet separating them from his own thoughts was a heinous and painful practice. 

When the Mother of Invention began shaking, hard enough that even the furniture of the recovery room slid, Washington’s body and mind was completely unprepared. He stumbled off his feet, hitting his knees before sliding headlong into the wall. 

Letting out a short cry at the jarring pain, he curled onto his hands and knees, hanging his swirling head low, trying to catch his breath. 

The struggle to move from that position was real. He had no concept of time or direction. He just knew he had to leave. 

“I have to... I have to find her,” he reasoned nonsensically with himself, pushing up from his knees, tenderly holding his head. “I can’t... I’m not ready... not ready to say goodbye...”

Somewhere just outside the doors of the recovery room, Wash realized he wasn’t only unsteady on his feet from apparent weeks of in and out of a coma but that the shaking of the Mother of the Invention had continued, that the ship was probably under some kind of attack. 

When his feet lost traction with the floor and his back hit the ceiling, with names and deaths and years of memory longer than his own life burst in small pockets around his brain, Wash felt himself grow sick. He curled into his stomach and released a frustrated scream. He was quickly losing sight again of where these implanted thoughts and feelings ended and his own began again. Now in the air -- on the ceiling -- he wasn’t so sure if his senses were even functioning. 

“Wash!”

His name felt foreign to his own ears -- was that it? wasn’t it David? wasn’t it Leonard? -- but, the hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him down from the ceiling, were unmistakably real and familiar. He let his head contact the plated chest of his friend.

“York,” Wash muttered tiredly against his fellow Freelancer’s chest.

“Why are you out here!? Why didn’t they evacuate you -- I mean, good that they didn’t. You’re coming with us.”

“Leaving?” Wash clarified, looking up to search York’s face only to be met with his reflection in York’s visor. “I’m Washington.”

“Of course you are, buddy,” York responded, sounding a little baffled. “Don’t worry, Wash, I’m getting you out of here, alright? Me and North have a plan.”

“What about her?” Wash asked, head throbbing.

York immediately stiffened. It was the first time Wash really noticed the abnormal way his shoulder was dropped, out of place. “Carolina... I just gotta trust that Tex’ll handle her.”

“Tex...” Wash repeated, the screams of a whispered name broke into his head again. “Not Tex... ugh my _head.”_

“Wash, you do _not_ look good,” York said, slowly kneeling with Wash and bracing his back against the hall wall. “Do I need to carry you to get you out of here?”

The question didn’t even make sense in Wash’s head, his mind elsewhere, distracted, being torn apart again. He wanted to vomit, but he realized almost peripherally that his stomach had never felt more empty. 

When an incredibly loud explosion shook the walls, Wash just moaned and lowered his head. He only noticed that York was looking toward the sound as his friend released grip on Wash’s shoulder, letting the weightlessness of the ship hit him again.

“Ah, fuck -- South must not be giving up,” York growled. “We don’t have _time_ for this bullshit.”

Nothing York was saying made sense and Wash was beginning to desperately wish his friend would stop talking altogether when York grabbed onto his shoulders again. 

“Wash, listen to me, we’re going to get out of here. I’ve gotta help North first, alright? Just sit tight.”

Before a syllable could leave his mouth, Wash was watching York turn his back and race down the hallway, reaching for the gun on his back. It felt like famous last words.

Head throbbing, he mumbled, “Just... don’t say goodbye... I hate goodbyes...”

Not able to keep focus much longer without York around, Wash laid back his head on the wall and slowly slipped into the haze again. There were so many pounding thoughts to sort through, so many high strung emotions and pain, and so _so_ many memories. He hardly felt the explosions, the entry into gravity, but the crash that sent him hurdling into the wall once more he felt. 

He laid there in a daze until he was found -- in minutes, hours, he wasn’t sure.

They weren’t York.

* * *

_Two..._

She ground her feet into the scaffolding, levied the rocket launcher, and glared through Texas to her brother. Even with his helmet on, she could see that smug smirk back at her. 

“Whose side are you on, brother?” she demanded. 

North hardly hesitated before nodding to Tex. “Tex, take a walk.”

South began to see red, cursing under her breath. _That son of a bitch..._

“I need to have a little chat with my sister.”

Nostrils flaring, South had never felt so much anger before in her life -- so much _disgust._ Her own brother. _Her own twin!_ For who? _Agent Texas?_ He’d betray the program, betray everything they’d worked for, betray _his own sister_ for her? What the fuck was so special about her? What the _fuck_ had she done to South’s brother?

In a motion that only later would strike South as being surprised, Tex loosened from her defensive pose, eyes trained on the other twin. “North... you’re _sure?”_

“Go,” North said firmly, a flicker of purple over his shoulder -- those goddamn AI. “This is a family matter.”

“You better believe it is,” South snarled under her breath, hardly noticing as Tex took off. She began firing, watching expectantly as the bubble shield domed around her brother in preparation for the attack.

There wasn’t time to breathe -- unlike her brother, South didn’t have a fancy shield _or_ an AI to project it if she had. She had her own skill and her own firepower and that was all she needed to duck and dodge, to fire back.

Also unlike her brother, she wasn’t pulling her shots. 

“What the fuck are you doing, North!?” she roared as yet another stray fire kept her moving but was nowhere near meeting a good mark.

“Waiting for you to calm down,” he droned back in that ridiculously easy tone of his. 

“You son of a bitch!” South roared, skidding to a halt behind North and aiming for behind his feet. She narrowed her gaze as she saw that signature purple flicker and then the shields stop her rockets. 

“Hey, now, that’s _our_ mother you’re talking about there,” North replied before firing just above her head, hitting the water mane and flooding them. South moved long before the first drop could hit.

“Have you lost your mind!?” she screamed. “Is it that goddamn robot in your skull? Is this why they wanted to remove them?”

“You have _no_ idea what’s actually going on, do you!?” North snapped back, showing his impatience at _last._ A small victory for a sister. “Damn it, South, stop for a second and _let me tell you--”_

“There’s nothing to _tell,_ Brother!” she snarled, leaping forward, stomping her boots onto the bubble shield as it appeared three feet between them. She aimed her rocket launcher for the shield. 

“South! DON’T!” he yelled voice harmonizing with the AI flickering over his shoulder.

Hearing her brother yelling had _never_ made her want to do something contrary so much before in her life, and without any hesitation she pulled the launcher’s trigger. The next second she was blown back in the air, trying and failing to land on her feet before rolling back to her knees, watching as the flicker of the bubble shield cracked and faded through the air, North tumbling head over heels backward before sliding to a halt on his chest plate with a groan. 

He didn’t have his guns and South could just about _taste_ the victory from that accomplishment alone, throwing her busted launcher to the side as she stumbled to her feet and into a full run right at him.

“North!” the AI squealed beside her brother’s head just before South threw herself into a full punch right for his helmet. 

“Stay down!” South roared. 

North was shaking his head, obviously more than a bit dizzy as he rose on his hands and knees. But he didn’t seem ready to jump up and fight. 

Which was why when she noticed that the spray of gun shells and debris began to rise from the floor, she was taken more than a little by surprise.

“The fuck!?” she growled, realizing she was also off the floor a second before she remembered to look for her brother.

“Hey, South!” he growled, knocking her right in the face with his own punch. “ _YOU_ stay down!” 

She flew back, momentum more than a little broken by the weightlessness of the ship before she hit the opposing wall. “NORTH!” she screeched, kicking off the wall to fling herself back at her twin.

“I still don’t have a shield charged!” the AI cried out.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got this!” North ground out as he caught the first two of his sister’s punches. 

“No!” South hissed, throwing more and more hits. “You!” She grabbed the sides of her brother’s helmet and slammed his visor down on her knee. “DON’T!” 

It worked to stun him only for a moment before he got wise and set the magnets of his boots. His gaze shifted to the floating guns above them. 

“Don’t you even _think_ about it, North,” South hissed before he kicked off. “You bastard--” she reached for her sidearm and aimed it for her brother’s hand, hitting her mark just as he reached for the sniper rifle. 

“Fuck, South! I’m trying to save us!” he roared back.

“You’re such a lying piece of shit!” she howled back. “You’re trying to keep your precious baby AI from being taken away from you. You’ve gone just as crazy as Wash or Tex--”

“Tex isn’t crazy!” North tried to explain. 

“But that AI sure drove Wash crazy, didn’t it!? How much nonsense have we _listened_ to since that thing was in his head? He only started to get better when we got that fucking thing _out_ because he couldn’t handle it,” she hissed. She aimed for that signature shoulder the AI just loved to stand by. “I thought yours was different, but I guess I know now it isn’t, huh?”

“Theta is _not_ bad! And even so, this isn’t about what the program’s doing to us, South. It’s about what the program’s doing to _them!_ To Theta and Delta and Tex--”

“What the _fuck_ has the program done wrong to _Tex!?_ She’s their little darling!” 

“How about you put the gun _down_ and I’ll explain it to you,” North reasoned.

“So you can grab _your_ gun?” South laughed hollowly. “I don’t think so.”

North floated for a moment, looking a bit defeated. “Don’t you trust me?”

South pursed her lips, considered the question before seeing that signature flicker again. “Not anymore.”

“I hate when family doesn’t get along.”

South nearly jumped at the sound behind her, firing as she turned but York knocked the gun from her hands and threw a fist right to her face, knocking her back from the floor into the wall with far more force that North would have ever managed. 

“Sorry, South,” North’s voice sighed in her ear.

It rang over and over again, building to _something_ she couldn’t quite place until she began to feel her body move again. Not by its own will, but by some other touch -- someone carrying her, then setting her on something hard. 

“Sorry, South” merged with gunfire and roars of “we can’t go back!” “stop!” “we have to go!” “you’re under arrest!”

Her eyes fluttered awake and she took a wide roll of her neck to assess everything around her -- she was in the back of a vehicle, perhaps a jeep, and there were two people in front of her, driving. North. York -- _fuck_ they mentioned something about Tex. 

South’s teeth gritted together and she looked up, seeing the back door’s handle. 

“She didn’t tell you where to meet her!?”

“I didn’t ask--”

“This is the worst insurrection plan. Ever. Of all time!” 

North’s voice gave way and South knew she’d been found out -- uncanny twin connection and all that. She gripped the handle as tight as she could and threw her weight into it.

“Wait-- NO, SOUTH!”

With a solid kick, throwing her body into the door, South forced the door open and rolled out into a shocking amount of snow. She continued to roll, eating face fulls of the stuff before finally coming to a stop, shoulder pulled and knees bruised.

There were troops from Freelancer closing in, approaching, but South couldn’t have cared less about them. She rose to her feet unsteadily, holding her shoulder and watching the jeep speeding away. 

She bit down a scream. The assholes hadn’t even slowed down. 

* * *

The brake in her leg was bad. She’d need therapy to use it again -- no speed boosts in her immediate future. Two black eyes and a split lip still held together with crusting blood were more than enough to remind her in every mirror that she didn’t walk away easily. 

The back brace was the hardest to adjust to. They said it was temporary, that the disc damage would be be repaired in her next round of surgeries. 

It had been over a week and she still hadn’t been visited by the Director. 

Sitting in the bed, stewing, flinching back at the endless harmonizing screams, the whispers of _Sunshine_ in her head, Carolina was beginning to get the idea that she wasn’t _supposed_ to be walking out of the infirmary any time soon.

That was when she started to put together that since she had woke up, she had only seen one doctor and one nurse. 

And, of course, there was the Counselor. 

He had been in her hospital room every day, perhaps even before she had woke back up. 

The next time he came to visit, she was ready to share what she knew with him. 

“You’ve limited the medical staff assigned to me,” she stated as the door closed behind him. “You’re also sparing some expense on my medical treatment. Why else wouldn’t I be in a full healing unit by this point?” Her eyes narrowed, following him as he crossed the room. “I’ve never been outside of this room since I woke up either. And I haven’t seen the Director--”

“You are much more astute... much more _lucid_ than your medical assessments would have one believe, Agent Carolina,” he said calmly, pausing to pick up said chart from the foot of her bed. “That’s good. We take a deep concern for the mental prowess of our agents. Our _agents_ are our most precious asset.”

Carolina’s lip curled, her back resting back further into her pillows. “I’m sure,” she hissed. 

“It’s true,” he said calmly. “I would think you, of all the Freelancer agents, would understand what a personal investment that the Director has in the program and its operatives.”

She closed her eyes tightly, balling her good hand into a tight fist at the thought of him. 

“I do,” she near whispered. 

“It was actually for your benefit that the Director devised our next directive in dealing with this situation head on,” the Counselor continued.

“What do you mean?” Carolina asked just before the Counselor took a seat beside her. 

“We understand how you must feel as betrayed by the recent insurgence from the program as we do,” he explained softly. “That the opportunity to do something with those feelings would be well in due.”

There were screams in the back of her head that wouldn’t stop, and Carolina felt the pitch only grow as she looked into the Counselor’s dark eyes. “I certainly feel betrayed,” she responded. 

“Would you say that this betrayal could serve as an adequate focus for you to continue on a new course? A new direction that would put you on a path to confront those you feel the most betrayed by?”

She ground her molars. “Yes.”

“And do you understand, upon taking that path, you would not fit the merits of a UNSC soldier any longer?” 

She hesitated. A soldier -- like her mother before her -- was all Carolina truly knew how to be. She closed her eyes. 

“Yes.”

“We are very glad to hear that, Agent Carolina,” the Counselor stated, pulling up a tablet to begin working on. “In light of the recent destruction of the Mother of Invention, the deserting of several operatives and the subsequent stealing of equipment and AI from the program, the UNSC Oversight Committee has saw fit to assign an investigation into the program. To... _assist_ as it were with any issues the program has developed as a result of the crash. And part of their inspections will be the proper use and etiquette in regards to sensitive equipment. Should our program be found to fail in any of these criteria or to not be completely honest with our records, our entire operations will be found to be in a truly desperate state with anyone involved in a very dangerous legal position.”

Carolina pursed her lips the best she could with her wounds. “So you’re saying you need someone outside of the program being one step ahead of the investigations. Someone correcting Freelancer’s deficiencies before they can be found.”

“More that we are _recovering_ from the program’s losses after a very dire tribulation,” the Counselor corrected, a meaningful look in his gaze. 

“That’s a large job for one operative,” Carolina responded darkly.

“Truly,” he agreed, tapping his pen against the tablet. “Which was why the Director began a plan, starting with you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, we are beginning a new sub section of the program, one dedicated to just those objectives of recovering lost personnel and artifacts,” the Counselor continued. “It is the Recovery Unit. And on papers it will have one specialized agent and several military police orienting it.”

Carolina turned her head to him more. “Just on paper?”

“Our private records will be more truthful to the size of this program,” the Counselor explained. “In our own understanding of the unit, we will know only one agent needs to be focused on the generalized mission objective. We will have at least one more agent with the intent of a specialized recovery mission. This ghost agent -- our Agent Zero -- will have one purpose, and one purpose alone. They are to hunt down and stop our Level Zero threats to the program and to Recovery.”

“Level Zero?” Carolina asked, narrowing her eyes. “Such as...”

“Agent Maine,” he said simply. “Does this objective interest you at all?”

“Of course it does,” Carolina snapped. “But how am I supposed to be a ghost in the program? I already have several records due to my involvement with Freelancer, don’t I?”

As she continued her questioning, she watched the Counselor begin to turn his tablet toward her, the files pulled up were her own. She narrowed her eyes and read at the top of the large, red letters as the report said clearly “K.I.A.”

“I am afraid, Agent Carolina, that you did _not_ survive the fall from Agent Maine’s attack,” he explained in the same even, cool tone he explained everything else. It was infuriating. 

She shook her head. Like everything else in her life, it seemed, the _Director_ had once more removed any possibility for her to have a real choice. 

Carolina locked eyes with the Counselor. “Let me at Maine and I will do whatever I need to,” she said darkly. “And, by the way, Counselor, where _is_ the Director?”

“He is in a secure location,” the Counselor responded cryptically.

“I understand,” Carolina responded though her fist only tightened. “When do I start?”

“As soon as your physical recovery has met our standards for active duty,” the Counselor responded, smiling. “It is good to have you on board, Recovery Zero.”

* * *

He spent a lot of time being quiet. 

When you were left with what was basically two minds sharing one space, _sanity_ was a hard thing to achieve again. There was an overlap of thoughts, feelings, _memories_ that he had to focus time on one by one. He had to sort them, to break them down -- what was his and what _wasn’t.  
_

Did he remember that as himself or as someone else?

No one could really appreciate the effort that he put into breaking apart those bases, splitting his own brain wide open in order to tear everything down to the most minute details so that he could sort them accordingly. No one knew why he was quiet because he didn’t tell them. 

And that, Washington believed, is what scared them so badly. 

Sometimes it would take so much concentration to remove himself from a thought that he would miss meals, miss sleep, in order to pull the string from the ball of thread, lay it bare and then sort it. 

Epsilon’s thoughts were dangerous in that way -- the AI had immediately come online in the base of Wash’s skull just to desperately try to break itself in half. He was a being of pure torment, trying with indomitable will to end itself. 

And they had put it in Wash’s brain. 

Whenever a purely Epsilon memory unveiled itself, the soldier became violently ill. But he stored it away all the same. 

It wasn’t like after Epsilon had rooted in his mind Wash was capable of _forgetting_ these things. 

There were medical staff and guards in this facility -- this makeshift institution carved out of a prison on the Freelancer satellite planet. Wash vaguely recalled it from training exercises -- when a military project expanded enough to have an entire colonized planet turned over to them just for simulations and drills, they had to have their own penitentiary, after all. 

Most of the people in the facility had probably gone rogue from their silly Red and Blue games. But Wash was there because the Director couldn’t get a word out of him after the crash. 

Because the Director suspected Wash _knew_ something. He just wasn’t sure _what.  
_

According to the Counselor, however, Wash was incarcerated for _treatment.  
_

“You seem to be more rested today, Agent Washington,” the Counselor said almost optimistically. It was one of the few days where the man had bothered to show in person rather than through a vid screen. 

“Two hours of sleep instead of _thirty minutes_ will do that to you,” Wash glowered in response. 

“And during that time, did you experience an uncomfortable or unsettling dreams?” the Counselor continued, not wasting a moment of Wash’s talkative days it seemed.

Wash pressed his lips to a thin line, glaring at the table in front of him. He didn’t _have_ dreams anymore. On good nights he didn’t have anything. On bad nights...

Well, he _remembered.  
_

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said firmly. 

The Counselor’s head turned slightly, as if he was peering through Washington, trying to drag the answer out from his cryptic words. Almost hysterically, Wash worried that the man might just be able to.

“Agent Washington, have you put any thought into how long you have spent in this facility?” the Counselor asked. “Do you know how long it has been since you were transferred here?”

Looking to his hands, Wash frowned. 

Sometimes it was better to not answer. 

When the Counselor saw that Wash wasn’t going to give a response, he looked down to his tablet. “You have been here for almost twelve months. It will have been a year next week. And in that time you have not put much effort into answering the questions the Director has posed for your since you were first lucid.”

Narrowing his eyes at the mention of the Director, Wash held his breath. He had counted _eight_ months since he began to keep track, which meant that whatever the Counselor and Director considered him not being lucid probably constituted the other four. 

That was a lot of time to have wasted. 

“You’re going to clear me anyway,” Wash said, finally looking up to the Counselor. “Right?”

The Counselor hummed, tapping his pen against the tablet. “And what would make you say that, Agent Washington?”

“You’ve kept me isolated from other inmates, but you’ve still had me performing routine cleaning and maintenance on my... _room,”_ he had been told before to not use _cell_ or _prison_ to describe his time in the facility. “I don’t have time in the courtyard, but I’ve been given a training room with drills and equipment not dissimilar to that on the Mother of Invention. And I’ve been encouraged to ask questions about the progress of the program in sessions with you.”

“Questions you’ve elected not to ask each time,” the Counselor reminded him. 

“Why do you want me active?” Wash asked darkly. “What do you want from me?”

For a moment, the Counselor seemed to consider the question. He shifted forward. “Allow me to answer your question with a question.”

Wash closed his eyes to keep from rolling them. “Of course.”

“Would you say, after your experiences with the Freelancer program, that you would be willing to ever implant another AI--”

“No,” Wash hissed. The anger that question ignited in him was potent -- how _dare_ they think to ask him that. And even if he hadn’t been through hell, he could never let another AI in, never show them what he knew thanks to Epsilon. 

It was too great of a risk.

“And after seeing the insurrection of your fellow agents, as well as the deaths of several of them, do you think you could ever work with another partner?” 

That was more of a surprise than the AI. Wash stared at the Counselor for a moment, searched his face only to see nothing helpful. Instead his thoughts drifted -- to the crash, to the reports, to the blurry memory of anger and disappointment, to the pain and loss at being read off those who were dead, those who had left him behind. 

They were his best friends. They were all gone. 

“No,” Wash answered at last. He dropped his head, feeling a pang of _something_ in his chest. “No, I don’t think I could.”

“For those reasons, Agent Washington, we want you in commission,” the Counselor revealed. Wash looked up, allowing an inquisitive look for the Counselor to continue. “In the months following the crash, the Director created a new sub section of Freelancer -- the Recovery Unit. Its sole mission is to pick up the pieces, as it were, that were left in the remains of Project Freelancer. We need someone to respond to reports and to follow trails of missing equipment, former soldiers, and AI. Someone we can trust to never use them or take off with them on their own.

Wash watched the man carefully. “And I’m your man?”

“You would be the only agent in the field,” the Counselor said. “There will be several operating military police, but as far as genuine equipment and AI recovery is concerned, you will be the only operative given permission to activate and physically recover.”

He took a deep breath through his nose. “The only people who would have taken equipment... they would have had to be formerly with the program,” Wash realized out loud. “I’ll be recovering things from people I knew.”

“Will that be a problem?”

He looked to the side, remembered that flicker of anger and betrayal that he still hadn’t unwound enough to figure out if it was his or Epsilon’s. “No.” He looked back to the Counselor. “But if I were to refuse. What are my options?”

“A wise man doesn’t agree to things he doesn’t know entirely,” the Counselor said, almost amused. “I respect that, Agent Washington. Unfortunately, your options are very limited given the circumstances... and your official diagnosis as recorded by our physicians.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have been Certified Article 12 -- unfit for service,” the man reported, and the _sting_ that delivered, even as much as Wash already suspected as much, _hurt._ “You are incapable of service in the UNSC and in Project Freelancer and will be discharged... after your treatment has been deemed successful by this facility.”

Wash narrowed his eyes. “As deemed by _you_... since you’re the only physician who has talked to me since I got here.”

“In a manner of speaking... yes,” the Counselor said simply. “And I _am_ concerned for your mental well being given the trauma induced by the Epsilon AI--”

“I’m sure,” Wash cut him off.

The Counselor fold his hands and looked seriously at Wash. “Your decision here is completely your own, Agent Washington. And Project Freelancer will support you in which ever choice you feel is best suited for you -- to progress with your treatment and therapy here before eventual discharge, however long in the future that may be, or to be cleared of your certification for the capacity of becoming a Recovery Agent -- and to begin new reassignment training for the tasks expected of you there.”

Running a hand through his hair, Wash sighed. “What a choice,” he breathed. “And I suppose the Director himself couldn’t ask me about this?”

“The Director takes a personal interest in your progress, Agent Washington, but due to security issues, travel is not the most available option for him,” the Counselor said smoothly. “I should also note, I _will_ need your answer before this session ends.”

Wash leveled a look at the Counselor, frowned. “What decision is there? I suppose you have your Recovery Agent.”

“Very well. We are grateful to have you, Recovery One.”

* * *

She watched for a long time through the glass. They hadn’t had anywhere else suitable to put her in the hours after the crash -- in the hysteria of everything else going on. 

Old Agent South was just another inconvenience in the midst of a string of other operations as they scrambled to reclaim control. 

She was sore from a car roll that had her suspecting they were never really going to get that control back. 

The glass that lined the room she was in once had automated controls -- something that would allow either side to become one-way as it was activated, similar to the outlook for the training room. South knew that because it had been the same room they grilled her in after her “failed” mission with North. Where things began to truly fall apart on them all.

She gnashed her teeth, hitting her fists on the table as she remembered North, the program -- _everything.  
_

It really all just made her wonder why she was here. 

Her eyes flickered up as she recognized a voice, even if the walls worked well to keep the exact words obscured. She could see the outlines -- the crash must not have done their equipment any favors -- and immediately recognized the shadows. 

The Counselor and the Director were outside of the interrogation room. Then the Director left. Then the Counselor came to the door. 

“Hello, Agent South. I trust you have been looked over by one of our physicians already,” the Counselor said smoothly as he pulled up a chair. 

“Haven’t had the pleasure,” she returned snidely. “They must’ve overlooked giving me a checkup between pulling my ass out of the snow and handcuffing me.”

“We apologize for that inconvenience,” he said, tone not sounding very apologetic at all. “In the confusion after the crash, it was difficult to determine what agents were deserting and what agents were not. I just wish to assure you that _your_ allegiance to the project and general discipline is not being called into question.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t it?”

“Of course not,” the Counselor said softly. “After all, isn’t that why you are still here?”

South stared at him for a long time, tried to search that ominous face for something to go off of. God, she hated the Counselor something fierce. In the last several months she had forgotten how much she disliked him more than the Director thanks to his little _sessions_ with them. 

She hated how easy he could see right through her. 

“I don’t know _why_ I’m still here,” she said lowly. And it was the god’s honest truth. 

“Don’t you?” the Counselor said, head tilting in curiosity. “Is it not obvious?”

“No, Counselor, I guess it really fucking _isn’t_ ,” she growled. “How about you _inform_ me of why I’m here since I’m apparently too stupid to figure it out?”

“This is not a matter of intelligence,” the Counselor said simply. “Simply one of... _introspection_ you might lack given the current difficult situation.” He waited a moment, making sure she wasn’t about to interrupt before continuing. “You’ve stated many times in our sessions that you and your brother have always been treated as a set, a _pair._ He and you were often dressed the same, given the same activities, and even once you were enlisted, the two of you were paired together, served together. And while you have never said as much, I have gotten the impression over time that you resented that Freelancer did much the same in regards to how we assigned the two of you.”

South narrowed her eyes, crossed her arms, and waited for something _interesting_ to be revealed. 

“You two did work well together. For the most part. But not in the last several months. I would assume it started either with your drop from leaderboard placement... or perhaps with your brother being chosen for implantation two groups ahead of your own.”

“Is there a _point_ to all of this history?” South snapped finally.

“The _point_ , Agent South, is that at this recent impasse -- this mutiny -- you were given a choice between staying with the program and leaving with your brother once more, making an agreeable decision between the two of you,” he continued, eyes somehow seeming sharper while his tone remained even and calm. “You chose to stay. And I believe that this decision has all to do with your need to finally be your own person. Your own _agent.”_

When he finished, South kept her spot, looked him over, considered the Counselor’s words. She then leaned forward, snarling, “You’re spouting so much bullshit right now it’s hilarious. Do you want to know what _I_ think about all of this? What _I_ think is the problem here? I think that your little project, your little games with us, backfired spectacularly. I don’t think it turned out to be such a good idea to put a computer program in someone’s head and expect them to remain some kind of perfect little super soldier -- to not lose their goddamn mind somehow. I _think_ you put a chip in my brother’s head and, just like it did on Wash and your guys’ precious little Tex, it knocked the screws loose. And I think that’s why if you check around, everyone who’s _gone_ now had those AI and everyone who’s still stuck with you bastards _don’t_ have them.” She clenched her jaw. “And now my brother’s gone.”

The Counselor was infuriatingly calm throughout the outburst, his pen tapping against his tablet. “So would you say that you’re glad the implantation process did not reach your level?” 

“I didn’t say that,” South responded haughtily. “I’m saying that you obviously either picked the wrong computers... or picked the wrong agents for those computers.”

“Wrong agents... like your brother,” the Counselor clarified. “Instead of the right agents... like you.”

“Agents who would know when to not listen to everything they’re told,” she said darkly. “Something I’ve not been growing a lot of interest in lately thanks to bullshit like this.”

“Do you fear there’s any danger for your brother given this assumed state?” the Counselor prodded. 

“Of course I do,” South growled. “I know what mean fuckers you all can be.”

“So the news that we have already set tracking parties after him and other deserters would not be very reassuring.”

South stared at him for a long moment, fist clenching. “Are they going to hurt him?”

“Current orders are for operatives to recover equipment and property in means that they see fit,” the Counselor explained. “So it will be entirely dependent on whether or not Agent North Dakota will be willing to comply. I have my suspicions that he will not easily comply with us. But, perhaps you think differently. You _would_ know him better than even I do.”

“Goddammit, North,” she swore under her breath, looking to her hands. She tightened them into fists. When she looked up, the Counselor was still patiently waiting. She scowled at him. “No. He won’t comply. Either he’s going to be taking care of that fucker York in his mind or... I don’t know, protecting his AI.” She looked back down, feeling a painful pull of the muscles over her chest. “He... He’s a real stubborn bastard when he thinks he’s looking out for someone. I don’t know.”

“When I spoke earlier to the Director, about our predicament with loss of resources, and with the limitations the various Freelancer deserters will be met with given our strict control of this colony, we decided a new operation was in order. A sub section of Project Freelancer. One that could meet our needs for searching and recovering lost properties,” he explained. “We are calling it the Recovery Unit. And it will concentrate on these efforts, particularly those tracking and hunting down stolen AI and field armor enhancements.”

“You mean things like what North has,” she said lowly. “North would be a target.”

“Yes,” he said. “As would any other operative to steal from the program. Including Agent York, Agent Wyoming, Agent Maine, and Agent Texas--”

“Let me guess,” she snapped. “You’re going to want someone who isn’t likely to turncoat on you to head this little bounty hunting expedition... _right?”_

“We were thinking you, among other candidates,” he said calmly. 

She rolled her eyes. “What? Who’s left? Carolina? Florida? _Washington?”_

“I’m afraid that Agents Carolina and Florida did not survive impact,” the Counselor reported.

South immediately stiffened. His words felt like a knife striking through her. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had talked to either of them -- her teammates, the only others to not leave her like her brother and supposed friends.

“And our plans for Agent Washington are dependent on several additional factors. Including his field readiness,” he said simply. “That leaves us, and the fate of this program, in your very capable hands, Agent South. How do you feel about that?”

She watched him carefully, exhaled sharply from her nose and shook her head. “What the hell. I’m in.”

“Thank you very much, _Recovery Two.”_

* * *

He uploaded the files directly, watching as they moved from his tablet screen to the shared vid screen between them -- the three Recovery Agent files set in motion before them, three live feeds beneath each. 

ACTIVE.  
INACTIVE.  
ACTIVE.

The Director’s vid screen was online, but he had not yet turned on his video. He had been doing that more and more recently. While the Counselor was never to document his findings on the Director, he did take personal note of them. He looked into his own feed lens. 

“Greetings, Director,” the Counselor said gently. “I trust that your work abroad has left you some feeling of accomplishment.”

“Anything _but,_ Counselor,” the Director drawled. “Truly, bureaucrats and politicians are incapable of understanding vision and risk. Let alone the scientific process.” He took a breath. “I had hoped that the appointment of a Chairman with some understanding of our field would have changed some of that, but it _would_ be Malcolm Hargrove that they chose.”

The Counselor hesitated to use explicit information in their conversations that were recorded, but he knew that it was FILSS moderating them, and the AI was nothing if not completely devoted to its creator. 

“Do you believe that the crash last year is going to be used as an excuse for a fishing expedition?” the Counselor asked carefully all the same.

“Do you mean if I believe the CEO of Charon Industries is using his position in the Oversight Committee to investigate any suspicions he has about corporate sabotage, Counselor?” the Director growled. “I believe so. Now will be the time where I need to get full restraint on the program and any loose ends. _Now_ will be the time for full use of our Recovery Unit.”

“Operations have been moving smoothly,” the Counselor reported dutifully. “We have all bases for simulation troopers fully operational -- any one of them will pass fully for inspection. In the meantime, small equipment recalls that have been interrupted and minor outposts with Freelancer equipment that have been attacked seem to be following a single pattern. We don’t believe that it is multiple deserters but rather all  are committed by one of two -- former Agents Maine or Texas.” He looked toward the blank screen. “I have Recovery Zero actively trailing that information with a twenty-four seven contact with Command.”

“Very well.”

“Smaller reports of missing food supplies, break ins, and various petty crimes that have been seen mostly to the Northern urban colonies are currently tracked by Recovery Two. Among our top suspects for these reports are Agents North or York.”

“Anything from Florida? About the Alpha?”

“Captain Flowers last reported in two months ago, passing a UNSC inspection _with_ the presence of the Alpha fully masked,” the Counselor reported. “Given the tracking the Oversight Committee is currently using on any and all Command received messages, we found it better to set up a Virtual Intelligence Computer as standby for the Blood Gulch Outposts. If there was any danger, Flowers was to report in immediately from a direct line to you and I. Thus far it hasn’t been activated.”

“You know what they say about making assumptions, Counselor,” the Director warned darkly. “Still, I trust Florida. He was a top agent and very commendable in the field. The Alpha will be fine as long as it’s under his charge. But I need to know the status of the Recovery Unit. How long before actual artifact and AI recovery is put into practice.”

“Recovery One has completed two weeks of training and has been shown to meet all field standards,” the Counselor reported, bringing the second file and feed into the foreground. “In another week--”

“Send him out on Monday,” the Director ordered. “I need full operations _now.”_

The Counselor frowned. “Sir, as physically prepared as Agent Washington might be for the field, I have not psychologically cleared him to my standards. I can only control him so long as I’m fully able to trust my analysis of him.”

“Counselor,” the Director said in a low sigh, “you and I would be fools to think we can trust _any_ of these agents. As long as we remember that, _then_ we can control them.”

* * *

 **Next:** Recovery Zero: The Game


	2. Recovery Zero I: The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three former Freelancers were chosen for particular tasks: Zero is to hunt down and destroy the Meta.
> 
> Carolina is called to investigate a scene with a suspected Meta sighting and finds that Freelancer Command is perhaps more predictable than they had hoped. 
> 
> Far away, a pair of thieves attempt to make do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Like I tried to explain in the last chapter, I’m dividing the story here into three separate POVs that will be updated in the same week – this is the first of the three updates this week and the next “episode” will be uploaded Wednesday and the third on Friday. It might seem a little rough the first couple of installments, but I hope you guys’ll hang with me and see the threads start to pick up between the three POV. 
> 
> Thank you very, very much to everyone reading this fic, giving it a chance, and just for going on this ride with me. Thank you everyone who liked the last installment, it just had me BEAMING last week : ) 
> 
> And gosh. Thank you to everyone for the feedback, comments, and reviews! Thank you on tumblr to secretlystephaniebrown, goodluckdetective and ephemeraltea, and over on AO3 thank you to Yin and meirelle. You guys helped make sure this story got out as fast as it did : )

"This is Command. Your line is secure. Go ahead, Recovery Zero.”

Even without snow, the tundra crunched beneath the weight of her boots. There was an unevenness to the pattern -- one that probably most people wouldn’t have picked up on. But she could hear it. 

The cold weather always did make her leg act up. 

The rebreather roared in her own ears a a few times more, the oxygen too thin for normal filtration this far north, which would have made the radio harder to hear if her link to Command wasn’t one of the loudest, most insistent “silent” partners she could have been given.

“I said you were secure, Recovery Zero. Report in.”

“I’m here,” Carolina responded, slowing to a stop in front of the base, narrowing her eyes as she peered at the markings on the wall. “And so was _it.”_

Taking her hand from the stock of her gun, she reached forward, gloved fingers reaching to the etching of the wall. The grooves were thick, traceable even with her regulation armor on, but the cut was crooked and became progressively less shallow at the end of its markings. 

The marks were most likely made by a crooked blade, laser cut thin for the ultimate sharpness. Her eyes narrowed. 

She would have had a fairly good idea of who was leaving these taunts if she hadn’t been all too familiar with the blade already. 

“I need you to clarify, Recovery Zero--”

“Command, it’s the Meta,” she said, stepping back to take full appreciation of the visage again. Carolina reached up to her visor, pressing the side lens. “I’m going to send you a feed. Are we video secure?”

There was a pause, then, “We are video clear, Recovery Zero, go ahead.”

She neglected to thank Command, knowing her partner would enjoy having something to bitch about the next time she was in for a report. She snapped a few quick photos, then continued toward the base. 

All the bases for the Simulation Troopers were practically the same. Basic structures, gutted of anything considered non-essential to field encampment with a few various test equipment they were treated with. Carolina was familiar enough with how the heads of Freelancer worked to imagine that it was all in the name of providing “pure” scientific results, controlling as many variables as possible.

It was only once she came toward its entrance that she could see a Red banner and had an idea of which side she was dealing with. 

The next clue were the red armored bodies. 

She closed her eyes and took a soft breath. The first time she had come across the destruction of one of these bases a year ago, she hadn’t wanted to believe she had known someone capable of doing such a thing. She also had still thought it was _Maine_ that she was hunting.

“Field scan,” Carolina ordered her armor. She watched for a moment as her visor’s screen decompressed, breaking the scene before her into a grid pattern. She then began progressing, watching as the data collected streamed to Command.

“How much of your readout are you reading as you go, Recovery Zero?” 

The easy answer would be to lie and say none of it, but it was also be the most obviously false answer. The worst answer would be the truth, that she’s always read everything the scanners picked up. 

“Enough to get an idea of what I’m looking at,” she answered, walking further into the base. “The report read that there was still activity on the opposing simulation base, correct?”

“That is correct, Zero.”

“I’ll have to go into stealth and see if there’s anything unusual over there then,” Carolina muttered, stopping as she saw the destroyed computer systems, the sparking door frame to an officer’s room where the door had been torn from the wall. “It was looking for something.”

There was a moment where she considered not intruding on the room, seeing the C.O. sprawled across the desk of the office, everything torn apart, it seemed like it was going to be about as informational as any other time the Meta took out its aggression on someone’s need to resist it. But then it was more than that. 

The desk had more damage than even the soldiers -- dented, every drawer thrown aside, contents ripped through as if they were thrown to a pack of dogs. 

It was outside of the pattern that Carolina had been following for a very long time. 

“Command, what Freelancer equipment was stored here?” Carolina demanded, entering the room, stepping over debris and firearms. 

“Come again, Recovery Zero?”

“Don’t be obtuse,” Carolina hissed. “What equipment was being tested with these simulation troopers? These people were _targets._ I want to know what the Meta wanted from them.”

There was a pause. 

Carolina felt her lip curl. “Is it _off record?”_

“I have no indication that either simulation base were testing Freelancer equipment, Zero,” Command finally answered. “But--”

“ _But?”_ Carolina growled.

“ _But_ there is an offsite Freelancer facility located a quarter of a mile from this location. But it was under complete lockdown.”

Her eyes narrowed, she turned to march toward the exit, looking across the tundra toward the opposing Blue branded base. “Let me guess, like the previous lockdown facilities, this one can only be opened with a sequence of keys. And those keys are hidden _separately._ But somewhere that Command operatives would have simple access to.”

“It sounds to me, Recovery Zero, like you don’t really need an answer to that question.”

Carolina watched angrily as smoke began to billow from the other base. “God _damn_ him.”

There wasn’t much more time to waste, and while she could already hear Command in her ears ordering for her to wait for clearance, Carolina was off. If she was right, and there _was_ another access key on the opposing base, then she was possibly losing a chance to stop the Meta in its tracks. 

She paused, taking cover behind a weather station, watching the gunfire from the Blue base. Her eyes narrowed. 

Her mind began to think of another way the entire scenario could go down, one that would have maybe made her skin crawl before. 

“Recovery Zero, give me your position and tell me whether or not you have eyes on the objective.”

“Nearly at the second outpost, and that’s a negatory,” she reported quietly, listening as yet another gun fight was taken down out of her sights. “How many enhancements would the Meta be up to at this point, Command?”

“If it has gained the ability to integrate them to the armor at the same time? And if then it was able to control them? That would be three.”

She exhaled sharply from her nose. “That’s three more than I have.”

The gunfire silenced, Carolina looked west. “Give me the coordinates to the offsite facility.”

“Sending to your read out now,” Command replied. Then, sharply, “Just what is it that you plan on doing, Zero?”

“What I’m always doing, Command,” Carolina replied, breaking into a run to head toward the offsite facility. “I’m _hunting.”_

The radio grew silent with that. If there were any admonishments to be given to her for inaction, Carolina certainly didn’t hear them, and more than that she already knew exactly what was going to be said to her the moment she walked back into Command after the mission’s completion. 

It wasn’t going to be anything similar to disapproval. 

When she came across the building directed from her coordinates, Carolina saw a plain front, hidden within a rolling hill. Like many of the offsite facilities Freelancer posted on the colonized planet, the structure was built into the environment for camouflage. People who already didn’t know about them were then unlikely to find them. 

Carolina had uncovered a few from her tracking of the Meta -- who over time revealed to have such an intimate knowledge of hidden records from PFL that even the Counselor seemed surprised -- but she knew it was far from all of them. 

And even when she knew of them, being allowed access to them was even rarer than learning about them. 

She found a good vantage point from a nearby hill and immediately flattened into the frozen grass, laying in wait. The setup of the facility’s entrance was perfect for an ambush whenever the Meta attempted to gain access. She could keep away from it and put an end to the chase right then. 

When she pulled out her rifle, aimed for the facility door, Carolina peered silently through the scope. Waiting. 

In the corner of her eye, something flickered, on the move. Carolina reached up and turned off her feed.

With her concentration on her scope, Carolina watched the approach of the Meta from a distance, pressing her lips together in anticipation. 

“Recovery Zero, come in.”

“Not now,” Carolina whispered almost breathlessly. 

The Meta stalked to the door, paused. It waited a moment, looking around, then holstered its brute shot. When it did so, it produced two cards from its utility pockets -- one red, one blue.

“Recovery Zero, the feed to your video has been compromised. I do not have visual. Do you have sights on the target?”

Carolina watched as the shot aligned, her eyes narrowing in on the domed helmet atop the Meta’s head. She then lowered her sights, focusing on how it swiped the cards and gained access to the facility door. 

“Not yet,” Carolina muttered. “But I’m close.”

He was on the move again and Carolina was quick to lower her scope so she could follow. The Meta entered, and without a speed boost or any sort of stealth equipment, Carolina had to truly book it in order to follow. The facility doors were not quick to close, but she was still cutting it close. 

“Recovery Zero, I _need_ a status update.”

Carolina ignored Command, ducking down to the shadows the second she entered the facility. The moment she did, she turned and smashed the keypad, shutting the facility doors behind her.  

Static erupted over her earpiece, leading to Carolina reaching up and shutting it off. “What a shame,” she remarked with a huff. “Lost contact.”

She took another step in, body still in stance, and looked around. Her frown tightened as she saw no evidence of activity before she and the Meta broke in. There would be no Director in this facility. Just like the last several times. 

“I was hoping to kill two birds with one bullet,” she hissed to herself, slowly moving forward. “I thought you were really onto something this time, Maine.”

She stopped, eyes narrowing as she looked around the darkness of the closed facility. Her gun rose as she looked around. “But I still doubt you came here for nothing, right? You must’ve gotten _something_ in your sights--”

As if answering her, the Meta appeared across the corridor, walking out from a storage room with a low, animalistic growl. He was gripping onto his brute shot, turning to face her. 

“MAINE!” she roared at him, raising her gun. “I _will_ shoot you! Stand. DOWN.”

He snarled at her, squaring toward Carolina with his own weapon rising. 

Carolina shot first, aiming right for his helmet, only to watch as all three shots tore through it... and gave nothing. The visage of her former teammate rippled and suddenly from behind it slid out the Meta in all of his brutal glory.

He tore toward her with no regard, taking a shot to the shoulder for his trouble before closing the distance and slicing forward with his brute shot. 

Letting out a grunt, Carolina blocked as she stepped back, watching the Meta’s blade sear through her battle rifle like it was butter. She wasted no time dropping it and reaching back for her batons, immediately charging them and catching the next downward swing. 

Even when he had Sigma, Carolina was always a better hand-to-hand than him -- she was ranked the best for a reason. And as he slung himself again and again into strikes, Carolina levied his own weight against him, taking minor light steps to readjust her stance for each swing. She caught it again and again, watching for her opening. 

If nothing else, Sigma had tightened up those openings. 

Still, as predictable as ever, he left his right side open and Carolina dove in with a baton, hammering his rib cage and sliding between the armored plates just under his arms to deliver a stunning blow to the survival suit beneath. 

The Meta growled, but around his head three glowing lights brightened, screaming in terrible unison. 

Not suspecting the AI to project, Carolina froze, eyes widened at the harmonic crying. She could almost still feel it behind her own eyeballs, the terrible screams. The _name--_

Snarling, the Meta took her opening and forcefully threw his elbow. It connected with the side of her helmet, sending Carolina soaring toward the hall’s wall. She hit it with a thud, laying out on the floor in a pile. 

When she looked up, the Meta was standing over her, shoulder twitching from the electrocution. 

Carolina held her breath, stunned, and waited for the Meta to deliver a blow. To do _anything.  
_

But he only stood there, twitching, before Carolina scowled and reached forward, watching as the projection disappeared the moment it was disrupted. 

Carolina flung her head back, hitting the wall as she glared at the ceiling. 

“Why did this place have CT’s equipment?” she wondered out loud. 

*

When she arrived at Command, limp and all, her contact was quick to spin her chair around, eyes narrowed. 

Niner had never looked more pissed. Which was saying something. 

“And just what the fuck was _that?”_ she demanded, gripping her wheels tightly as if it was taking everything in her power to not roll right over Carolina right then and there. 

Carolina shifted her weight to her good leg as she came to a stop, reached up and removed her helmet, setting a firm frown for her contact. “The objective escaped,” she reported calmly. “I lost radio contact after entering the offsite facility.”

Not budging an inch, Niner’s nostrils flared. Every visible muscle was tense in her frame. “You drove all the way back to this outpost without giving me a word to go on. You’re _lucky_ I didn’t assume that your tracker was moving because that thing grabbed it from your looted, dead ass and sent someone after it.”

It was almost too easy to put on an easy grin for Niner’s frustrated explosions. Almost reminded Carolina of old times. Before the crash, before a pilot was told she wouldn’t be given the clearance for surgery that would keep her in the air. 

“You trust me more than that,” Carolina responded at last. 

“I trust you as far as I can throw you,” Niner snapped, gripping her wheelchair and turning it back toward her monitors. Her eyes were darting between three screens before she reached and closed out of the first. The message ‘RETURNED’ lit up on the screen before it flickered back out. 

For a moment, Carolina’s eyes wandered to the other view screens, but she quickly returned her focus to Niner. 

Other Recovery Agents weren’t her concern, not for now. 

“You going to tell me what happened out there?” Niner attempted again, typing up something on the screen labeled ONE. “Not that it really matters. You’re going to have to tell _him_ in a minute anyway.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Carolina said, though it wasn’t convincing even to her own ears. She looked down to her helmet, ran a thumb over the visor’s sharp edges. “Do you know what was in that facility that was so damn important?” 

Niner hummed. “I don’t see how it’d be my business,” she said simply. “It wasn’t provided in the records, if that’s what you’re implying.”

It was. Carolina looked to her friend’s back again, put the pieces together. The offsite facility was a lab which had been closed. The equipment held within it was not untested so much as it was placed in storage somewhere where others could not find it. 

Considering that the Meta seemed to know exactly what it was looking for, Carolina had to assume it wasn’t _him_ that the new holographic projection enhancement was being hidden from but rather from but someone else who would be searching registered facilities. 

Carolina turned her head slightly. “Hey, can you do me a favor?”

“I don’t see why I’d want to after the stunts you’ve pulled,” Niner responded haughtily before looking over her shoulder expectantly. “What is it?”

“Can you check to see what the current registered status of the holographic projection enhancement is?” Carolina asked, watching as Niner’s fingers flew across the keyboard the moment words came out of Carolina’s mouth. 

“One unit. Missing. Stolen by a rogue agent,” Niner read off, hesitating on the last sentence. She looked over Carolina through the corner of her eye before ultimately continuing. “Of course... that rogue agent was CT.” She closed the window, turning toward Carolina. “Why? You think that has something to do with the Meta?”

“Not if there’s only one unit on record and it’s stolen,” Carolina huffed. “Can’t say the Meta has a new enhancement if it doesn’t exist, right?”

Niner seemed ready to respond with something when her eyes flickered over Carolina’s shoulder. The Recovery Agent didn’t even have to turn to guess who it was. 

“Agent Carolina,” the smooth tone of the Counselor called from the hall. “I need to have a word with you about your mission.”

She sighed, shaking her head before turning to head out. “Yeah. I figured you would.”

Turning, Carolina caught a glimpse of the man before he headed down the hall toward the counseling chamber. It was perhaps Carolina’s least favorite of the additions to the small, new building Command for the Recovery Unit had situated itself in. 

Then again, that could have been because Carolina saw an abnormal amount of it. 

As she passed down the hall, she kept her focus on everything she had seen and subsequently learned from this encounter. On how much of that she was going to divulge as well. 

By the time she was sitting across from the Counselor, her mind was made up on all accounts. 

“This was another unsuccessful confrontation between you and the Meta,” the Counselor said almost immediately. “How does that make you feel?”

“You know as well as anyone that I don’t enjoy failure, Counselor,” Carolina responded thinly. She crossed her arms. 

“Last time you said you believed you had underestimated the Meta’s abilities,” he reminded her. “Would you say that continues to be a problem?”

She thought back to the way the Meta had moved, how vicious but controlled he was compared to Maine’s wild lunging. She thought about the gunshot he took to the shoulder and the pain she inflicted with the electrocuting baton -- the way his body jarred and sparked in disuse, even if the majority of that appearance had been from the hologram. 

“It’s not a matter of underestimating its abilities anymore,” Carolina responded, glaring right into the Counselor’s face. “It’s a matter of the Meta’s change. It stopped acting or even looking like Maine a long time ago. Now it’s changing even more -- every time it comes across equipment or breaks into an active facility, it _changes._ It gets _better._ And until it stops, I don’t know, _evolving_ , there’s not really a hell of a lot that I can do to get prepared for it.”

The Counselor looked back at her, not at all deterred by her intensity. 

“And yet you made an active choice to follow the Meta into an enclosed and outdated warehouse rather than to confront it in a similarly enclosed simulation base. That seems like an awfully large risk, particularly considering your objectives as a Recovery Agent.”

Carolina tapped her fingers against her arm. “That’s the thing with hunting, Counselor. Sometimes you have to let them think they’re on the trail of something they want. Then you take them.”

He stared at her for a moment before penning something on his tablet. 

“Given you are the one in this program with the most experience with the Meta, would you say that someone who has taken refuge or security in one of these similar offsite facilities could be at risk?” his eyes glanced up to her, a certain meaningful intent behind them. 

She knew what he wanted from her, but Carolina just looked back.

“I would imagine so.”

* * *

“We have five minutes by my estimates, York.”

He narrowed his eye, watching carefully as the guard turned the corner and headed back down the alleyway. There was a long pause before York kicked off from the rooftop, dropping to the ground as silently as he could in the cumbersome armor. He turned slightly, checking both ways before making his way to the back exit, examining the lock. It was simple enough. 

“Yeah, well, it’s four more than I’ll need,” York grunted before lowering to his knee, reaching back for his pick pocket. “Do you want to time me, Dee?”

“I’d rather not,” Delta responded, appearing just by York’s shoulder as the former agent began to fiddle with the structure. “Every time you add a second to your time you become distinctly less consultable.”

York released a small huff of a snort as he dug into the lock and listened for the tell tale click. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Delta responded without hesitation. “I have analyzed and believe it to be due to the pride you take in the craft.”

“What can I say, Dee?” York asked with a sigh as the door clicked and he easily pushed it open. “There’s not a whole hell of a lot I take that much pride in anymore. Alright, we’re in. Where now?”

“South west--”

“Delta.”

“Left, York.”

Silently shutting the door behind him, York let out a small sigh. “Thank you,” he responded before cautiously taking the left. His hands moved back to the lockpick pocket to deposit his set before moving to his sidearm. 

Delta always told him he could stand to be a little more cautious during these raids. 

“How much further?”

“Two point nine-nine meters. On right.”

York looked down the hall, took a quick look over the area, and then entered pressed against the right wall. To the exact decimal Delta was right, as usual. 

Though that didn’t mean York had to give him an easy time of it. 

“How sure are you that this is going to have everything we need?”

“Positive, York. Another lock.”

For good measure, he jiggled the door and examined it. York’s face set into a scowl. “Ugh. Electronic. Fantastic.”

“I can override if you wish--”

“Don’t insult me, Dee,” York responded, dropping down to reach for his wire cutters. “Though I guess that’s your way of paying me back for questioning you, huh?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that possibility.”

“Smart alec,” York grunted as he began work on the lock. “I’d just like to remind you that we’re doing all of this _for_ you. I could go a few more weeks without food.”

“That isn’t true in the slightest,” Delta responded dryly as York worked the door open. “I merely am directing you to the most lucrative supply holds to meet your needs.”

York stepped into the store room, shutting the door behind him, and looked cautiously around the room. Frowning at the tight corners and lack of hiding spots. “I guess there’s not another way out of this room, huh, Dee?”

“There _is_ a vent large enough to fit us. But I do not trust its structural integrity, York. It might not hold.”

Stepping up to the nearest workbench, York pulled off his helmet and began removing his gauntlets. “What’re you trying to say, Dee?”

“It’s not a comment about your own weight, York. Just on this building’s conditions,” Delta backtracked quicker than York could have ever imagined. He projected beside York’s helmet on the bench as the former Freelancer pulled up the stool and began to work on the old equipment. “You have actually lost weight in the last three weeks.”

“Don’t try to butter me up, Dee,” York responded as he worked on tightening the gauntlets. He held it up, shifting the gauntlet back and forth, examining the various chips and blemishes from wear and tear. “What’s the functional capacity of the armor?”

“Currently eighty-two percent functional capacity,” Delta responded. “With blanket repairs we can return to eighty-five percent. Any higher would require access to a full Freelancer facility that is not in the same disrepair as this one--”

“So, in other words, it’s not going to happen. Got it,” York grunted, continuing work. “What a shock, they’re letting the planet go to shit. Probably just to spite me.”

“I highly doubt with the numerous concerns of the program that a personal vendetta against a former infiltration specialist is high on their priority list, York.”

York frowned, pulling off other clasps to his armor and taking the pieces one by one to continue maintenance. He felt that he could almost run equipment maintenance with his eye closed. Freelancer had been adamant about teaching its operatives how to fine tune anything they would use, and his time on the run from the program had forced him to take it to an entirely new level. 

Not to mention, having a brain shared with Delta made it near impossible to not feel constantly concerned with these things. 

“Delta, I’m going to finish up here and grab some MRE from that shelf. While I’m doing that, how about you plug into the computers here and let me know what news we’ve got from our good old friends in Freelancer,” York suggested, finishing up on his helmet. 

“Accessing,” Delta responded, his sprite disappearing in a flicker. 

The standby mode Delta put up in York’s mind in order to not overwhelm him with an information stream would never cease to feel strange to the man. Where once having two minds synced was dizzying and disruptive, York found that his mind being left without Delta was too calmed, too slow. Even if Delta was only “gone” for minutes at a time, York couldn’t quite swallow down the anxiety building without him unless he worked very hard to distract himself. 

Something he managed by finishing up his work on the armor and getting up to move toward the shelves of MRE. 

He grabbed a few packages, looking at them with a curl of his nose. “Ugh,” he grunted, looking around and seeing a sack that he then grabbed to stuff with the food packets. 

“I’m sick to death of these things. I’m telling you, Dee,” he said, nodding to his shoulder as he felt the cooling comfort of his AI coming back online. “I’m going to get us real food again someday.”

“York, we need to leave. A guard will begin patrol soon and their route incorporates this hallway. They may notice the broken lock.”

“Fantastic,” York responded, pulling the sack closed and looking around the room. “Let me guess, you’re not going to give me a good time frame for just walking out the door.”

“I would not.”

York sighed, rubbing at his face. “We’re getting sloppy, Dee.”

He ignored the indignant feeling Delta was projecting and quickly flung on his helmet before sliding into the shadows by the door. York readied his sidearm cautiously before holding his breath.

Just outside the door he could hear footsteps coming to a slow halt. Someone shifted their weight and let out a baffled, “What the fuck?” before the door began to open.

York narrowed his eye, watching carefully as the man entered the store room. York gripped tightly to his firearm and kept silent as Delta counted down from ten.

“Now,” Delta whispered in his brain and York swiftly and silently crawled out the door as the guard walked closer to the workbench they had just been using. 

From there it was almost muscle memory.

Within seconds, York was back into the alleyway, tearing his way out of the alleys, and hopping the first fire escape he could find to quickly make his way onto the roof.

It was only slightly annoying that that alone was enough to make him slightly breathless.

Falling back onto the roof, York sighed, glaring at the never sitting sun of this destitute planet. Not for the first time since their deserting York couldn’t help but wonder if he’d get to see night again before this planet and Freelancer killed him.

“We could always stow away and leave, York,” Delta reminded him quietly, always scanning York’s private thoughts it seemed. 

“No, Dee,” York sighed. “No we can’t.” He closed his eyes. “I’m going to eat in a second, but until then, how about you read off all the Freelancer news reports. See if anything about our mystery woman made the headlines.”

“Chances of the reports indicating Agent Carolina after reporting her as KIA are--”

“Please, Dee. Don’t rain on my parade.”

“Alright, York.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday -- Recovery One: The Tight Rope


	3. Recovery One I: The Tight Rope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three former Freelancers were chosen for particular tasks: One is to investigate and recover stolen or missing equipment.
> 
> Washington is going through the motions of just another day when an alarming case comes across his purview. Things just aren't adding up the way Command would like them to.
> 
> Elsewhere, a former agent finds exactly what she's looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Gosh I just can’t thank everyone enough for supporting the last update. There were so many kind words @_@ I do hope that everyone will enjoy the other sections as much as they seem to have enjoyed Carolina’s sections so far. Wash’s chapters have been fun to write, and while this one’s slow, I can assure you that there’s a LOT of action pieces in Wash’s part of the story I’m just SO anxious for us to get to!
> 
> Special thanks to FallingCrow, Yin, and Liam for the feedback on AO3 and goodluckdetective, ephemeraltea, secretlystephaniebrown, and its-york-catch on tumblr!

His eyes opened at four almost exactly.

Sitting on the cot for a moment, Washington caught his breath, slowly came to terms with the settings, and then got to his feet to start another day. 

The mornings were silent at Command, but he had come to prefer it that way. He got himself a coffee, watched with unsettling attention to detail as some of the other Recovery soldiers went about their graveyard shift, and then slipped into the training room. 

He ran ten laps, followed FILSS’ recommendations on various exercises, and then settled into weapons training. 

No one bothered him. They hardly ever did. 

Those at Command who knew what to make of him stuck to simply warning others off. He wasn’t sure what was said -- he had his ideas. “Hardass.” “Special ops.” “Former Freelancer.” “Murderer.” “Crazy.”

Wash never raised to the bait of any of them. None of them knew the real answer, and letting them decide for themselves did more to keep him from having to deal with other people. 

That was his specialty, after all -- he didn’t work well with others. He didn’t _want_ to. And that was just the way the program wanted him. That was the reason there was only Recovery One. 

He had a few inches off on his throwing knives, but when his firearms were used, target practice became almost too easy. FILSS seemed to think his consistency was off by point three-three millimeters from the day before, but Wash was ready to let that one slide. 

He had the excuse of knowing there was someone watching him with great interest from the observatory. 

When FILSS lifted the targets up and began to switch the stage to a different level set, Wash turned to face the observatory. He glared at the one-way glass, waiting until he was certain that whoever was behind it got the message, and then began the next training level. 

FILSS had nothing to complain about with his shots that time around. 

As expected, when Wash headed toward the benches and removed his helmet to towel off, a vid screen projected just above him. Even in shadows, the Counselor’s image was more than a little familiar to him. 

Wash roughly rubbed at his face, waiting expectantly. 

“Good morning, Agent Washington,” the Counselor greeted, formal as ever.

He scowled a bit, quickly throwing his towel aside in order to secure his helmet on his head again. When he looked back up to the Counselor he felt a bit more prepared. “You have something for me?”

“We have a scene for you to look into,” the Counselor said simply. “There was a complete eradication of two simulation bases in one of our northern quadrants.”

Turning his head slightly, Wash pressed his lips into a thin line. Considered the planet’s geography a bit. “Sidewinder?” 

“Not quite that far north or west,” the Counselor answered. “This site is simply I-LQ2. There were two bases stationed there--”

“Blue and Red,” Wash reiterated with a near boredom.

“But also one of our offsite facilities. It was offline, however...”

“There’s still things to assess and equipment you’d like your deposit on,” Wash said dryly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He began to turn when the Counselor cleared his voice, drawing Wash to turn just enough to look him over. 

“We will need you to maintain consistent and _constant_ radio contact with Command while you are on this away mission, Agent Washington. That has been a problem in the past.”

“Not by design,” Wash responded. And it _was_ the truth. “I’ll keep Command informed, Counselor.”

“We are also due for another evaluation, Agent Washington--”

“And I’m sure it can wait until we’ve gotten whatever this is sorted out,” Wash cut him off shortly before walking toward the exit. “FILSS, I’m done in here.”

“Very well. Ending training protocols. Would you like your progression logs--”

“Not now, FILSS,” Wash sighed, leaving through the doors. “I don’t need them.”

*

I-LQ2 was not a short flight from Command, not even from a Pelican. 

Washington still wasn’t a fan of flying, but as he sat in his seat and watched the chatter of the military police that had somehow over the years found themselves wrangled into Freelancer, he couldn’t help but think that it was the company that made air travel so unbareable.

“I’m just saying, if he’s _not_ going to ask her out, and I do, he shouldn’t get mad at me for it.”

“Maybe he’s mad because you’re his sister.”

“So? That doesn’t mean I have to cut out ever woman he lays eyes on on this planet. Newsflash -- there’s not that many.”

Wash sighed, rubbing at his helmet. He wasn’t entirely sure how much more of their talking he could take when he was trying to concentrate. Though, at least, his visible frustration had apparently silenced them. 

The old reputation was good at work once again. 

“You’re coming up on I-LQ2, Recovery One. Confirm contact when you have landed.”

He looked up, frowning at the familiar voice over the radio. He didn’t _feel_ the pressing need to respond, but he’d be damned if he was going to disobey orders that soon after talking to the Counselor. He had to at least keep the man on his toes. 

“Will confirm, Command,” he stated plainly before beginning to unstrap himself from the ship.

He ignored as the Recovery officers watched him cross toward the cockpit. If they whispered it was far from his mind. 

Glaring out ahead, Wash watched as their Pelican dipped into a ravine and came to a crossing of two smoldering sites. He frowned a bit, bringing a hand to his chin as he tried to determine why the M.O. of these site hits had changed so much when they closed in and he couldn’t help but notice two colorful tents not much more than fifty yards from each other.

There was also lots of shouting and gunfire once the pelican came to a rest on the grass. 

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Wash gritted his teeth. 

_Nothing_ irritated him more than having to play along with the Simulation Troopers. And while it was definitely a good thing that _decimation_ of the simulation camps didn’t apparently mean the people within them... it still meant he would have to do the thing he hated most with his job. 

“Status, Recovery One,” Command said impatiently. 

“Yeah, we made it,” Wash said thinly, leaning against the cockpit’s door frame and glaring out into the camps. “Landing confirmed. Command, you did _not_ mention survivors to me.”

“Who else would have called in the destruction of the bases, Recovery One?” 

Wash scowled. “There’s no need for lip, Command.”

“Recovery One, are you inhibited from doing as directed when there are survivors?” 

“No,” Wash glowered. “It just takes longer. Recovery One out.”

He dropped his shoulders, glaring at the floor with a sigh before straightening up and heading back into the carrier where the Recovery officers were already loading up. He stared at them for a bit, noted the bright color coordinated highlights to their gray armors, and worked out a plan as quickly as he could.

“Alright,” Wash said, making each of the officers go stiff as he walked between them. “How many of you have dealt with simulation troopers before?”

Two of the four raised their hands. The male and female officers from the earlier conversation did not. And, as was Wash’s luck, they were both assigned the same color -- Blue -- which meant he couldn’t pair them up with one of the experienced team members and continue to forget about them. 

He sighed. “Fantastic. Okay, Red Team, go ahead and head to your assigned camp, do preliminaries. Anyone who has something of interest, round them up and keep them until I come around to conduct my interviews.”

The two officers nodded and headed out the back as ordered. 

The remaining officers were looking at him a little awestruck. He hadn’t yet decided if that was a good or a bad thing.

Taking a breath, Wash turned to face the greener officers a bit more directly. “How much experience do you have with the simulation troopers?” he asked plainly. 

“We understand their purpose and the importance to the program of not revealing the fact that they’re simulations, Sir,” the woman responded. 

Wash looked at her, sized her up. “Are you aware of why you must stick with your assigned color?” he asked. She nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Anderson, sir,” she responded. 

He looked to the man who immediately shifted before responding, “Smith, sir.”

“Those two names?” he said, “Come up with different ones to give the sim troopers. In an unlikely instance where you return here, you’ll want a different set of names in case you have to interact with Red Base. You don’t want them to somehow communicate that representatives of the ‘different’ Commands happen to have the same names and match your descriptions.”

“Yessir,” they responded with a simultaneous nod. 

“You also are going to go through them rather quickly -- I doubt that there will be too much useful information, but ask them about what happened, if anyone witnessed who the rogue agent was, and if there’s anything of interest that comes up, pull that person aside and hold them for me. I’m going to come back around and conduct a more specific interview on anyone who might be useful.”

“What are you doing until then?” Anderson asked, head cocking slightly to the side. “If... you don’t mind me asking, that is... Sir.”

Wash stopped and gave her a steady look before heading back toward the exit. 

“I _do_ mind, Anderson,” he responded. “Now get busy with those preliminaries.”

“ _Ha_ ,” Smith snorted, but Wash was far enough away he could almost ignore the noise. 

He simply shook his head and continued on his way. He reached up to his earpiece. “Command, this is Recovery One.”

“Recovery One, this is Command. You’re clear.”

“I have the officers conducting preliminaries with the survivors while we’re here,” he informed her. “Until then, I’m heading to the offsite store room. Do I have clearance?”

“You do,” she informed him. “Recovery One, would it not be better to check out the damaged bases first?”

“I don’t think there’d be much to examine, Command,” he responded as he came across the small thicket against a rock facing that very neatly hid the storage hold. Wash knelt beside it, the hatch was only about four feet across which meant it wasn’t the usual field equipment storage he was used to but an information dock. It was old and worn, but the scrapes and dents were fairly new. “Why was there an information dock out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“Maintaining backups are important, you know that.”

Wash frowned, running his hand over the bent metal before pulling up on it. As he suspected, the computer was completely busted -- any backups that had been hidden from the UNSC on this site were gone, and any evidence of them being accessed was gone as well. 

Of course, while a human did the external damage, Wash couldn’t imagine a regular person could access those records as fast as the apparent hit and run that the rest of the evidence was building up to. 

Someone who had an _AI_ that could specialize in information recovering, however...

“Command, what kind of backups were kept on this location?” he asked steadily, closing the store door. 

“Simulation roasters.”

Wash brought a hand to his chin, tried to think through what could be gained from all of that -- what _he_ would do with that kind of information -- when his radio sounded. He reached for the earpiece. “What is it?”

“Uh, yes, Recovery One? I’m not sure anyone here saw anything that would interest you,” Smith alerted him. “But as far as we can tell, from either base it looks like only one casualty was documented in either explosion -- a Blue Team trooper. Name was... Nathan Church.”

Wash felt his breath hitch. _That name._

 _“Come again?”_ he demanded. 

“Nathan Church. Blue Team simulation trooper, he was the only casualty documented. Is... that a problem, sir?” 

“No,” Wash said, a second too quickly. “No, just take their statements and head back to the Pelican. I’ll meet you all there. We’ll have Command set up new accommodations for the troopers.”

He took a breath, considered all the information, and then switched back to his link with Command. 

“This is Command. You’re secure, Recovery One, go ahead.”

“I need you to give me access to the main computer’s simulation base registry when I return to Command,” he announced, heading toward the Pelican. “I have an idea that the party responsible for the destruction here and stealing the backup records is specifically targeting simulation troopers that have a specific name.”

“What name, Recovery One?”

Wash stopped dead in his tracks. “Huh?”

“What name, Recovery One? I’ll do the search for you from here.”

He blinked a few times. He couldn’t say _what_ specific surname without overplaying his hand. And he couldn’t hesitate much longer without being completely obvious about what he was doing.

“It’s... the name is... Ander...smith,” he replied, kicking himself internally almost immediately.

There was a pause.

“Come again, Recovery One?”

“It’s... Andersmith. The name being targeted is Andersmith, I believe.”

Wash kind of wanted to scream and smack himself in the face with everything in him.

“That’s not a real name, Recovery One.”

“It was very real to the people being hunted down,” Wash defended with far more confidence than he could ever possibly justify. 

There was a persistent pause before Command audibly sighed. “Report back in, Recovery One. We’ll discuss this at base.”

“Understood,” Wash grunted, rubbing at his helmet. “Don’t lose it when you’re so close, Wash, c’mon.”

He slowly made his way back to the Pelican, feeling even less joyed about flying back. 

*

The flight back was a touch quieter, though Wash couldn’t be sure how much of that was the fact that he stayed concentrated on his own thoughts. It wasn’t the first time he had seen scenes of sabotage that didn’t quite add up.

When he came back to Command, he knew to stay behind just a bit, waiting for the familiar bing of Command lighting up his radio. 

“Your request for personal access to the general registry is denied, Recovery One,” she said in what sounded like a long sigh. “I will keep an open search for any Andersmiths should access be granted to me.”

Wash scowled. He expected as much. “How am I supposed to get ahead of these things if I’m not able to anticipate them?” he asked. “I understand that Recovery is, generally, a reactive capacity, but I think we could stand to be a bit more proactive.”

“Proactivity is _not_ your jurisdiction as a Recovery agent,” she reminded him. “Off the record, Washington? I’d recommend letting it go. Don’t worry about it.”

He glared at his boots. He could feel his nostrils flare with a heavy exhale. He couldn’t press much more without getting more attention than he already had. 

“When does the Counselor want to meet with me?” he asked lowly.

“I’m sorry, Washington. He left not long after receiving your report. I’ll leave him a memo--”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wash responded, walking toward his quarters. “I don’t need therapy sessions.”

Command went offline without any other salutations. Not that Wash particularly expected them anymore. After the first week of listening to the radio, he was driven up the wall trying to figure out why her voice felt so familiar. By the second week he didn’t care whether or not she recognized his either -- that was when she started to refer to him as _Washington_ inside the Command building. So she knew, Wash just doubted she cared. Whoever she was. 

He had bigger things to concern himself with.

As he dressed down and went through the motions of going to bed, he began to consider what he had seen at I-LQ2. 

Wash would have bet his bottom dollar that someone with an AI had gone after the hidden records, let alone needing one in order to even learn about the location of such an obscure storage device. That hardly narrowed down the possibilities between the various former Freelancer agents until he reconsidered the way Smith’s report said the single Blue soldier was killed -- assassinated by sniper rifle.

That left two former Freelancers -- North and Wyoming.

Wash hated to imagine his once friend capable of burning down all evidence in his wake, but he also wasn’t sure how much more comfortable he was with _Wyoming_ doing the same. 

Sighing, Wash rolled over to his side. He needed access to the registry -- in all the time he’d given to the Recovery Unit and to his own incarceration, he had not seen the Director again, not since the crash. He wondered just how likely it was that the Director was hiding among simulation troopers, or why there would be other ‘Churches’ in the program.

Wash muttered to himself, “I’d definitely keep around some diversions.” He closed his eyes. “But from what? Myself... or someone else with my name?”

His eyes shot open, glaring into the darkness. His nose wrinkled with a scowl.

“ _His_ name,” he corrected himself lowly. 

Wash forced his eyes closed and decided, at least temporarily, to take Command’s advice and drop that train of thought. 

He _hated_ thinking like the Director. 

* * *

The bases were not unlike any of the other other Red or Blue sim trooper bases across the planet. If anything, the canyon only a few latitudes north of the colony planet’s equator managed to be even less interesting and noticeable. 

It was the most unmistakably inane spot for soldiers to be stationed and, in that way, Tex realized it was perfect.

She had somehow felt that draw, had _known_ from the moment she was within the canyon’s perimeter that months upon months of searching had finally paid off. After all the distractions, the pitfalls, the petty attempts at a little well due revenge, she had finally met her mark.

With her cloak on, she was able to do a silent survey of the base -- she had been familiar enough with his preferences to know that he wouldn’t be Red. 

It didn’t take long to find him and then... then Tex wasn’t sure what to do.

“Do you want to go watch the Reds?” he asked.

It was bizarre seeing him -- physically seeing him. His cobalt armor stood out a bit from regulation, not that Tex would have ever expected different. His demeanor somehow transferred well into the armored form -- his head cocked to the side almost felt like the lazy, sarcastic grin she had once seen projected. 

He had a sniper rifle which... surprised Tex. She never took him for the type. 

The other Blue on their base she had been watching was in regulation colors, more than a little green around the gills. He sounded like a kid still. Tex kind of hated him, but she supposed she was the one who was invisible following him around and learning _far_ too much about his personal time. 

He shrugged a bit, crossing his arms. “Why would I want to do that? Captain Flowers didn’t tell us to do it...”

“Doesn’t it bother you that we’re not doing anything about a very obvious threat right across the canyon?” 

Tex hesitated in the shadows. She found herself just staring at him a lot during her recons. It was such a surreal thing -- to see him there. To see him not broken, not faltering and tired.

It almost made what she had seen before seem like a terrible, terrible dream. But she knew it wasn’t. 

“Alpha,” she sighed to herself, but the words felt wrong on her lips. Alpha was a whole AI, strong and cocky and not unaware of himself and his purpose. She frowned a bit. No, he wasn’t the Alpha anymore than she was Beta anymore. 

He was Church. 

_Heh, yeah, well, Church is a pretty funny name for a guy._

She looked down just for an instant, collecting her thoughts as the other Blue let out a frustrated sigh. 

“Yeah, okay, here’s the problem with that logic, Church: according to the Reds, they _also_ have a very obvious threat right across the stupid canyon. They are _also_ doing shit about their very obvious threat. Probably because _we’re_ not doing shit about our very obvious threat. So if we start doing something, then they’ll start doing something. Suddenly we _all_ have to do something. And, dude, that’s a situation I don’t want to be in.”

Tex could almost roll her eyes into the back of her head with that. “Oh my god, these soldiers are such losers.”

“Tucker, how do you know the Reds aren’t doing something right now? No one’s watching them! We don’t have any goddamn idea what’s going on over there, and I’d rather _know_ if they were doing something so at least when they come over to try to kill us I’ll have a good idea that it’s happening,” Church snapped back.

The Tucker character snorted and looked off. “Pfft. Whatever, dude. Do whatever. I’m going to wait for Captain Flowers to order me to do something. Like a good soldier.”

“Yeah, Tucker, you’re on your way to a medal. Oh shit. Where _is_ Captain Flowers? I’ve not seen him since this morning.”

“How should I know?” 

Tex narrowed her eyes. She hadn’t seen much of the teal armored captain since that morning either, though the man was rather prone to long walks. Something about him had kept her unsettled, but at the same time even as a captain he maintained a level of boring non-presence it was easy for her observations to be only of Church. 

Still, she liked it more when she had a full working knowledge of who was around her. 

She drew back, started toward the base. It was best to scout the usual haunts Flowers had and fan out before she retreated to her own camp for the day. At least, that was her plan until she noticed a glimmer from one of the nearby rock faces that just seemed... _off.  
_

For a moment, she thought twice about reaching for her guns, but then decided it’d been long enough since she had punched something. That gnawing aggression she continued to tell herself was long gone ate at the back of her mind. 

As many times as she had scaled the canyon in the last few weeks, Tex couldn’t help but test her time by double as she made her way to the glow. She couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed if not entirely upset at the idea that she found Church only for someone else to come along and already have a sniper rifle pointed at his dumb head. 

She leaped to the ledge at last, feet falling into stance, arms up and ready, only to be met by a shimmer of light reflecting from dog tags hanging on a rock, swaying in the wind. 

“What the,” Tex snarled, dropping her shoulders and walking toward the tags. She glared at them for a moment before reaching to stop their sway. 

If she had a true heart, it would have stopped when she saw the insignia of the Mother of Invention. 

“Howdy.”

Tex ducked just in time to miss the tomahawk, immediately whipping around to face the attacker and feeling her insides grind when she saw the teal armored captain drop from a ledge above. 

He wasn’t a very large man, but he seemed somehow more menacing up close. 

“You’ve aged well,” he said cheerfully. There was a certain glint to his helmet’s visor. “Long time no see, Agent Texas.”

“I know that voice,” she said lowly, allowing her cloak to drop. She gritted her teeth. “You’re from Freelancer.”

“We didn’t have the pleasure of working together much,” he continued. “But Freelancer was a long time ago regardless. We’re all different people now, I like to think. I go by Butch Flowers now. I suppose you also go by another name...”

“Tex,” she snapped. “It’s all I need.”

“There’s no need to be aggressive,” he said calmly. “I just wanted your attention. And to get you away from my men.” He straightened up, broadening his chest and shoulders. “I am _very_ protective of my men.”

“How noble,” Tex sneered. “I’m sure, if you’re from Freelancer, and they put you in charge, you know why Ithink a little _aggressiveness_ is more than due.”

“Oh, I know why,” Flowers said, tapping on the side of his helmet. “Information is my specialty, _Tex._ And I also happen to know who I’m supposed to be protecting my men from. That list includes you and your,” he tapped his helmet again, “little friend.”

“You don’t have to protect Church from me,” Tex snapped. “That’s what I’m here for -- to protect him form you bastards--”

“Maybe,” Flowers said calmly, somehow still managing to douse each word with a little venom. “Maybe you _are_ here for good intentions. But, again, I’m not so sure your little friend is. It’s a _very_ aggressive, very _controlling_ AI.”

Tex narrowed her eyes. “It’s also not interested in anyone besides me.”

“For now,” Flowers responded. “If you could really trust that, though, I don’t think you would have wasted so much time watching us here. I think you would have been the first to talk to my private, give him a hand.”

She paused, feeling more than a little put off by the phrasing. “Excuse me?”

“Am I wrong, Tex?”

She stared at him. 

“Now, I don’t mind you keeping an eye on things in the canyon,” Flowers said simply. “You’re not the worst on my list of people to look out for. Perhaps some extra eyes could be good for me. For protecting my soldiers,” he decided out loud. “However, I’m going to ask you to not make contact. I’m worried too many things showing up from one’s past will... well, make it hard for some of us to escape them. Don’t you think?”

Tex scowled, but felt a cold hollowness in the truth to those words. She looked down to the ground. 

“Fine,” she agreed, listening as Flowers approached her. “I can handle that.”

“Thank you, Tex, I appreciate--”

She slugged him across the face as hard as she could, watching with morbid satisfaction as his helmet connected with the cliff and fell to the side. 

Tex huffed at the reveal. “Florida. Alright. Now that won’t keep me up all night.”

“Ow, god, my head,” he groaned, rubbing at his temple. 

“Oh, just take something for it, big baby,” she said before activating her cloak. “And by the way, _Flowers_ , you better keep your word about watching over Church. If you don’t, let’s just say it won’t take me as long to find _you_ as it will take you to see me coming.”

She took off, rushing as fast as she could to her camp. She’d have to break it down and reconstruct at least a hundred yards from it just in case Flowers had found it. 

Then, if she still felt sick over the conversation she had with Flowers, if she felt that anger flaring up again that let her know Omega wasn’t so happy being dormant in her subconscious, she could find something to punch until she didn’t feel angry anymore.

Of course, she was rarely not angry anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friday -- Recovery Two I: The Double


	4. Recovery Two I: The Double

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three former Freelancers were chosen for particular tasks: Two is to take down AWOL former agents.
> 
> South is given a tip about some shady business involving Freelancer equipment in one of the colony's cities. 
> 
> A former agent takes particular interest in South's arrival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the middle of midterms, so this is going to be the last chapter for at least a week if not more. Also I super apologize for the lack of personalization in this note, I’m not really able to spend much time on editing right now : ) 
> 
> Special thanks to secretlystephaniebrown, ephemeraltea, its-york-catch and Yin for the feedback on AO3 and tumblr!

“Recovery Two, you are coming up on the radar as being twenty-two kilometers from the city.”

South tapped her fingers against the door of the jeep, looking slightly from the road to examine the GPS on her dash before rolling her eyes and looking straight on once more. 

“Let me guess, there’s _nothing_ else going on at Command so I get all of your lovely attention, huh?” South sneered. “Not like I don’t have a GPS that could tell me what I already know.”

“Maintaining radio contact is a strict rule, Recovery Two. You know that.”

She scowled, tightening her grip on the wheel. “Yeah, about that, Command...”

[[MORE]]

“Recovery Two--”

“We have multiple reports of petty larceny and technology tampering across this city, right?” South pressed on.

“Affirmative.”

“Right,” South narrowed her eyes. “And now we have this lovely little Recovery beacon going off saying that someone is inside a non-mandated facility _using_ some minor equipment at this very minute. _Right_?”

“Affirmative.”

“And this is the most heavily populated location on the colony?” 

“Recovery Two, what are your inquiries getting at?” Command demanded in obvious frustration.

“My _inquiries_ , Command, are meant to get at this: I think this is open and close and requires more _snooping_ and _recon_ than it requires fancy Freelancer badges,” she said with a smirk, beginning to pull over her jeep an intersection early. 

“You have _not_ been cleared for this, Agent South--”

“Oh, I must be pressing buttons for you to use my name in the field,” South snorted. “How about this, I’ll keep an earpiece. But the Freelancer armor and the tracker you’ve got in it? _Not going to happen.”_

“Negative--”

“No earpiece. You’re the boss,” South responded, turning off the radio and cutting Command short. She rolled to a stop in an alley and began to change with speed and finesse of a well practiced machine. 

The military fatigues she had packed just in case that ‘routine maintenance’ turned out to be a tracker placement fit with an old familiarity. Which was good, as within the city it was going to fit in with the normal dress and make it much easier to bust who she highly suspected was responsible for all the reports Command was getting.

Not that it _would_ be him. South had been working in Recovery long enough to know that since the program came to a standstill and the investigations of Freelancer became more and more drawn out, the planet under its supervision had all but begun to fall apart around it. 

There were more than just former Freelancers concerned with recovering old equipment.

She locked up her armor in the jeep’s lock box, closed the top and locked it, then tussled her hair in the jeep’s side mirror. South frowned a bit. It was longer than she cared for it to be. She’d have to take care of that whenever she got back to Command. 

It didn’t take long to navigate the streets from there, to make it in little less than a hustle, to smirk knowingly as she passed up the people around her, made friendly with a few bars. 

South found it amazing how much easier it was to stay on task when she didn’t have useless chatter in her ears. 

One bar ended up being far more useful than any of the others, mostly because the moment South headed toward the bartender his tongue began wagging and she mostly just had to play hard in order to show he needed to impress her. 

“Fucking Blues, man,” she said, head cocking to the side. “My C.O. is about to have a heart attack over it all. I know you shitheads here in the city are neutral and all that, but man, it’s _such_ bullshit.”

“Such bullshit,” he agreed, topping off her drink. 

Her eyes glinted as she smirked at him. “It’s just not fair, right? I mean. Somehow these Blues have things... weapons. I don’t know. Some kind of armor enhancements. How are we supposed to compete with that? All Red Command can give us is a Warthog with a gun on it. And _not_ one that impresses me, you get my drift.”

The bartender leaned in on his elbow. He looked over his shoulder a bit to his other customers before turning slightly more away from them to face South directly. She smirked into her beer, watching him carefully.

“You know, I know a guy...” he began.

“You don’t say?” she couldn’t help but tease.

“Heh, yeah. I mean. He’s not Blue or Red. Not anymore. He’s defunct or something. Hell if I know, never got the story out of him no matter how many beers I got him.”

“Sounds like a real asshole,” she agreed.

“But the thing is, he’s got access. Real stuff. _Good_ stuff. Don’t know how he gets it, but man does he get it,” he explained, face drawing serious. “Look, I know some people have a problem with guys like him who’ll sell to either side, but if you don’t mind getting your hands a little dirty, he’ll set you and your team up with equipment that’ll match whatever bullshit your Blues have. Hell, they might be _better.”_

She  leaned in, smirking. “I like that. I like it a lot.”

His smile could not have gotten sleazier. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she replied, watching carefully as he leaned in before drawing back away from him herself. “You have a number I can reach him by? I need to call my C.O.”

“Oh, uh, sure,” he coughed, straightening up. “Better than that, I can tell you where to find him. Just tell him I sent you.”

South smirked. “Sure thing.”

*

The setup was fairly typical. The asshole ran out of a shop in the shitty side of the city. It was supposed to be a neutral supplier, foods and goods, not weapons. 

_Certainly_ not anything that would get someone on the Recovery Unit’s radar. 

When South approached him from the front of the shop, he wore a content grin, put his phone away -- looks like the bartender had called ahead for her, that made her cred look even better. 

Someday she would have had to make it up to the dumb guy. 

“I hear you’ve got things I’m interested in,” she said, hands in her pockets, fingers tracing her secreted away firearms. 

“Baby, you’re not wrong--”

An orange glow appeared over the counter, binging. 

South knew on instinct that that was _not_ a regular glow. She drew her weapons aiming both for the dealer and for the glow, eyes widening. 

“You have a fucking AI!?” she roared.

“Danger danger -- Freelancer Personnel--”

“Oh, fuck!” the man yelled before ducking beneath his counter. South shot a moment too late before tearing into a full lunge after him. 

“Mother _fucker!”_ she snarled, looking down to the floor behind the counter and seeing a drop chute. She glared at the binging AI on the counter until it disappeared. Her eyes narrowed. “It’s attached to him. _Fuck._ They didn’t mention there was a missing fragment--” 

Not taking a moment more, she slid over the counter and went feet first into the chute. 

She and Command were _definitely_ going to have a little talk after all of this was over with.

The man had a bit of a lead on her, but South was a former Freelancer, and she was _pissed._ Her stride lengthened and her nostrils flared as she chased after him on foot, never losing sights on him. 

As she gained on him, she could see the man’s eyes were blown wide, an unhealthy pink color rimming them, and his stride began to grow an unsteady stagger. 

“What the fuck is going on with him?” she asked out loud just before the man took a tumble head first into an unsuspecting crowd. 

Everyone turned, curious to annoyed as he pushed past them. But as South approached with her weapons drawn, the reactions began to change. 

“Yeah no thanks, assholes! Don’t try to stop him or anything!” she roared as she followed.

“No!!!” the man screamed as South got in arm’s length of him. 

“You’re under arrest, you piece of shit!” she roared, grabbing his shirt.

“NO! You can’t take him!” he yelled viciously, pulling away from his own shirt only to race headfirst into oncoming traffic. 

South stared, watching in mild shock as the car hitting the man skid to a stop, the man falling into the streets in a heap. People around her reacted with horror and concern, beginning to gather around the bleeding man while South continued to stare. 

Her eyes narrowed. AI. They really did make people lose it. 

She sat on the street corner, sharply breathing through her nose as she waited for more officers to arrive. 

*

The gauntlets fitted back on over her survival suit with ease, but she couldn’t help but think that as they tightened they felt distinctly more and more like handcuffs. She looked thoughtfully back toward the officers’ van and watched as the bodybag was hoisted in.

“Poor bastard,” she muttered mostly to herself.

Her eyes flickered to the security officer that had grilled her before, watching as he finished up on his personal call and began to approach her. She smirked and threw on her helmet almost leisurely. 

It was nice of Recovery to have had a unit bring her jeep to her. 

“Your story checks out, ma’am,” the officer said still eyeing her suspiciously as she checked out the adjustments to her armor. “Sorry for the confusion. You have full clearances.”

“You’re right, I do,” she said, stopping to give him a direct look. “But if it makes you feel any better, officer, even if I didn’t, I didn’t shove that guy into traffic. He took care of it himself.”

“I’m guessing you would have liked to have questioned him,” he said, still guarded. 

South’s eyes flickered over him. “It would have been more fun to keep him alive, that’s for sure.”

The officer didn’t seem too impressed with her, which was fine as South wasn’t feeling particularly overwhelmed with platitudes toward him either. His scowling face was rather annoying, though. 

“Do your people know how much of your material was confiscated by him?” the officer asked. “If you need assistance going through his store--”

“That’d be against protocol,” South returned with a lilt of humor. “I sent the guys who brought my car over there already. But I _will_ need to see the body again. I know he has some on him, and your officers’ grimy hands aren’t allowed to touch it. Classified stuff and all that.”

The officer glared at her but eventually moved to the side, giving her a straight beeline to the van. 

She unzipped the body bag, staring at the corpse for a moment before grabbing onto his head and turning it. Sure enough, the neural implants were there with a filled AI slot, one that was blackened with the skin around it burned. 

“Disgusting,” she grunted, reaching for a pin from her pocket to begin tinkering with the edges. Her radio began humming in her helmet and she sighed, turning on the earpiece. “Yeah, Command, I’ve got some good fucking questions for you--”

“Recovery Two, you are out of line!” Command snapped. “You’ve broken several protocols--”

“Yeah, I’m sure if I _hadn’t_ just learned you assholes were up to even more shady business than usual, that’d be held against me,” she snapped. “Command, you currently have _what_ AI stolen according to the records?”

Command grew quiet for a moment. “AI Delta, AI Omega, AI Gamma, AI Theta--”

“Yeah, want to explain how this guy has one that’s not only _not_ one of them, but also seems to have completely fried out in his head?” South asked, jerking the pin into the AI slot and finally pulling the chip out. “Or is that... _classified?”_

“There are several untested and unapproved fragments that Freelancer was not able to use, Agent South,” Command said, frustration evident. “You know that.”

“How could a guy who looks like he was a sim trooper have not only gotten a hold of one of those, but have inserted it into his neural implants?” South demanded. “Why do the Sim Troopers even _have_ implants?”

“All Freelancer personnel do--”

“Sim troopers?” South stressed, shaking her head. “Such bullshit.”  

She began to close up the bag again when she noticed there was something sticking out of the man’s breast pocket. South hesitated -- it was something that had obviously not been there before. She looked around to the officers around and saw no one looking particularly interested in her. 

Then she pulled out the card. Her brows knitted together as she read the card. _Charon Industries._

“I recognize that,” she said to herself, flipping the card again to see in handwritten scrawl _WE’LL CONTACT YOU.  
_

“What was that, Recovery Two?”

South read the card again then pocketed it before continuing to close up the body bag and van. “Nothing. I just am used to seeing your guys’ little inventions causing more harm than good.”

There was a long pause between them before Command started up again.

“Were you really expecting it to be your brother, South?”

“I don’t really think it’s your business what I was or wasn’t expecting, Command,” South responded before stopping just outside of her jeep. She glared at it for a bit before opening the door and jumping in. “Are the officers I sent to the shop any good?”

“Yes--”

“Then I’ll just start on my way back to you so you guys can do what the fuck ever with this broken fragment,” South snapped. “That sound good to you?”

Command released an aggravated sigh. “Affirmative, Recovery Two. Head back to base.”

South turned off her radio without a second to spare, started up her jeep, and went on her way toward the highway out of the mess of a city. 

When she had gotten far enough along the road, she leaned back into the driver’s seat and let out a steady breath, trying to collect her thoughts on everything that had happened. She didn’t give a fuck about Freelancer’s decaying program or the shit they actually kept her recovering, the fact that it didn’t add up was par for the course. 

But what concerned her was her own objective -- one that was put on hold _yet again_ for a shitty assignment -- and for the things that had directly involved her. 

She reached into her pocket with a free hand, pulled out the card and looked it over again. 

“Charon Industries,” she repeated, slowly putting it away. “Now isn’t _that_ an interesting twist in things. If North wasn’t such a son of a bitch to find, I might consider meeting up with you, Charon Industries. Unfortunately my brother _is_ , well, _my brother_. So being a real son of a bitch comes with the terr--”

There was barely any time to react when a bullet seared past her ear, breaking the GPS just to her right.

“What the fuck!?” she screeched, slamming on the breaks while ducking for cover and reaching for her sidearms. The jeep spun, but South kept her attention toward the source of the shot, hear jumping into her throat. 

By the time it stopped, she knew the only way that angle could have been achieved was from the skyscraper she had driven past to leave the stupid city. 

She reached for the glove department, opening it with a solid punch, grabbing out the binoculars and quickly looking through them to see the waving form of her brother. 

“Not again,” she growled, standing straight as she looked at him. “You want me to chase you? Fine. Let’s do this. _Again.”  
_

These games never ended well for her. And as expected, he was long gone before she got to the skyscraper. 

South was so ready to kill him by the time she got to the top that she kicked loose a pipe and threw her helmet when she found him all but gone again. 

“You stupid bastard!” she roared at the top of her lungs. “You could have killed me!” 

It never would have happened, North was a hell of a shot, after all, but this made the third time he had just escaped her grasps. 

It was the second time Command was never going to hear about it. Not from her. 

*

Command was very particular about their facilities. There were halls that South could not use at particular times, there was a training room she had to have clearance to use -- all in the name of keeping up some big game of theirs.

She knew the correlation -- it hadn’t always been this particular, just since she had no longer been the only Recovery Agent on the roster. 

South watched from the observatory as Washington trained in the early mornings. She was ready to hit the cot, her former teammate was up and at’em. She wasn’t sure which one of them had the rawer deal.

When he kept looking straight at her, South couldn’t help but snort and take a swig from her water bottle. 

To her right, the screen flickered to life, but South didn’t look away from the training room. She watched as Wash’s aim improved. 

“Does he actually know that someone’s up here or is he always looking up here for someone to kill?” South asked, leaning against the glass some. 

“Agent Washington is not your concern, Agent South Dakota,” the Counselor’s droning voice said crisply. 

“You’re right,” South agreed, finally looking at the Counselor’s vid screen from the corner of her eye. “Doesn’t make me less curious about my _fellow agents._ Like, for example, I’d rather _not_ have a bullet put between my eyes if we come across each other on the field.”

“Your chances of overlap with Recovery One’s missions have been purposely kept nonexistent,” the Counselor replied. “With your methods of operation, even being allowed within the same area has been deemed... _unwise.”_

“I don’t like following scripts,” she replied sharply, turning to glare at the man’s screen directly. “And you know what, Counselor? Everything I’ve ever learned about this program tells me you’re not in a position to condemn me for that.” 

For emphasis, she tossed the charred AI chip onto the table. 

“That thing killed someone today,” she pointed out sharply, watching as a blue glow from above the table projected a thin light, scanning the chip. “This wasn’t even included on your list of things for me to find in the city.” She narrowed her eyes. “That was all, y’know, sniper rifle shells, scopes, bubble shield enhancements -- things to get my attention. I’m curious how much of that was even in the shop.”

“None of it was untrue information,” the Counselor said simply. “It was just that other essential items were omitted from the list sent to you.”

“What? So for the _tenth_ time I’d think you were finally letting me look for North?” South asked with a sneer. “Yeah. Like I haven’t figured out already that you assholes do that. You’re getting lazy with your manipulations, Counselor.”

“I detect more hostility than normal, Agent South,” the Counselor said calmly. “While perhaps not undeserved given the circumstances, ultimately our faith in you as a Recovery Agent is directly related to your performance in the field. Your ability to follow our orders.”

“What you _should_ rely on is my ability to get _results_ ,” South responded. “I would have never gotten edgewise on this asshole if I had gone in, straight laced, and in Freelancer armor. That’s not how you deal with these obsessive Reds and Blues guys. You have to play along. I did. I got your guy,” she waved to the chip, “ _you_ got your fucking equipment. Sometimes you _don’t_ know best, Counselor. I made a call in the field. That’s all. I did above and beyond. _That’s_ why you should trust me.”

“Trust is earned, Recovery Two,” the Counselor said as harshly as he said anything.

“You’re right, it is,” South snapped. She pointed down to the training room as Wash began to finish up. “And compared to the competition, I’d like to point out that you’ve got a _lot_ more to trust with me than with anyone else. We share the same objective, Counselor. I want to bring in my brother and the other assholes. You want them brought in. We have a fun, happy relationship based on that. But _him?_ What do you know about what Agent Washington really wants on his end?” 

The Counselor grew quiet. 

South smirked. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“Thank you for your services today, Agent South, your recovery of equipment was highly successful,” the Counselor said almost robotically.

“Yeah, yeah,” South rolled her eyes, heading toward the door. “Add the bonus to my paycheck. Have fun juggling agents, Counselor. I’m sure it won’t come back to bite you in the ass.”

There was a great sense of self-satisfaction as she walked to her quarters. She smiled, patting first the pocket with her calling card then the pocket with the bullet she pulled out of her jeep’s dash. 

In a way, she was doing just what Freelancer had wanted from her all along -- playing along with their little games. And if Recovery wanted to keep secrets, cover things up, well, South wasn’t opposed to having a few of her own.

* * *

The packing was always the longest part, but North supposed they had gotten incredibly efficient at it over time. He clocked himself at managing it in under ten minutes. 

Given, there wasn’t all that much in the Nest for him to grab. 

Theta had stayed projected in the center of the room, downtrodden, kicking at the air. The kid was only more obvious about his feelings on the move because he happened to share a good chunk of head space with his partner. 

“I said I was sorry, Theta,” North sighed, throwing the satchel over his shoulder and ignoring the way it weighed down on his back. He looked to his AI remorsefully. “I know you liked it here.”

“But you’re not letting us stay,” he replied, looking up to North. “We _never_ stay for long.”

“I had to make sure South keeps on us,” he replied, walking toward the AI’s projection and kneeling beside him. “Look, kiddo, I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense yet, but it’s all part of the plan.”

“We could stay in the city. I’ll scan for other structures. People leave the planet every day. The city’s population is at an all-time low,” he read off, projecting several news articles and headlines he had been consuming during North’s packing. “There’s bound to be other lofts. And the city’s big enough that--”

“No city’s big enough to hide from an angry twin for that long, Theta,” North replied with a soft sigh. “That’s just the truth of the matter. I’m sorry. I want my sister’s attention. I _don’t_ want for us to get caught.”

Theta looked to his boots, kicking again. 

“Do we still trust her?” Theta asked weakly. “We haven’t really talked to her in a long time.” He looked up to point a finger at North. “No. Shooting radios isn’t talking.”

North laughed, holding up his hands. “Hey, I wasn’t going to argue that.”

“You were _thinking_ it?”

“I suppose you’re right,” North replied, standing back up. “You know how I feel when you’re reading my thoughts and I’m not reading yours.”

“You’re always allowed to read my thoughts, North,” Theta reminded him genuinely. “I trust you.”

“I know you do, but I want you to practice actually saying what you want me to hear,” North explained. “See? I want you to know I respect that trust.”

“Oh, okay,” Theta responded, flickering out before reappearing back over North’s shoulder, head tossing a bit to the side. “Do you want me to tell you why I like it here so much?”

“I admit,” North said, opening the door to the Nest one last time, “I _was_ a touch curious about that.” He turned, looking around, letting Theta get one last look at their home for the past three months. 

“When we’re in the city, there’s lots of places to hide, and lots of places for me to plug in and listen for danger,” Theta explained. “There’s also lots of supply drops and food banks. You eat better when we’re in a city.”

“That’s true,” North responded with a sigh. “I _will_ miss that.”

“You sleep better when there’s ambient noises in the city, too,” Theta explained, turning with North as they headed out of the abandoned loft. His avatar sat on North’s shoulder with a sigh. “Goodbye, Nest. I liked you a lot. You were my favorite.”

“They’re _all_ your favorites, Theta,” North chuckled. “If we walk for the next six hours, how far do you think we’ll get?”

Theta hummed in the back of North’s mind for a moment, processing the request. “Twenty-two and a half kilometers. If you don’t stop.”

“I’m going to make it twenty-three,” North responded. “Just to show you Ol’ Northy is more spry than he looks.”

For a moment, the AI looked at him, no particularly telling expression, but that humming was in the back of North’s mind again. “Twenty kilometers if you overexert yourself on the first stretch.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” North laughed. 

“I’m never wrong.”

“You’ve been wrong a few times.”

“Less than you.”

North laughed, exiting the building, looking around steadily just in case, then crossing the road. The journey had begun once again. 

“Theta, have I ever told you about why I sleep better in cities?” he asked. 

“Is it because you’re from one?”

“Don’t cut my stories short, Theta. We’ve got a few hours to kill, after all.”

“Oh, okay. Go ahead, North. I really want to know why you sleep better in cities.”

“Well, when South and I were little...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next -- Recovery Zero II: Other Fragments


	5. Recovery Zero II: Other Fragments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolina decides to further investigate Command's newest location off the records. 
> 
> Meanwhile, York and Delta happen across some familiar faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to everyone for being patient for the new update : ) My midterms got more than a little hectic so I had to majorly cut back on writing and other activities to keep up the pace. For better or worse, midterms are finished and I’ve got some time for writing again. I’ve really been enjoying this story and everyone’s feedback has been SO wonderful, I’m incredibly grateful to everyone for it. Hopefully the next few chapters will do a well enough job of explaining things, but just in case they’re not, I want to assure everyone that the time between the Prologue and the current story will be addressed as we carry on : ) 
> 
> Special thanks to @goodluckdetective, @ephemeraltea, @secretlystephaniebrown, @its-york-catch, Yin, and meirelle for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

York had never been the sort to hyper focus on vehicles -- he liked what he liked, used it as he needed, and carried on without need for endless hours on tread types and engine improvements. 

Delta, on the other hand, was _all_ about details, and his appreciation for vehicles was not lost on York. It was one of the things back in Freelancer that started to make the former agent consider that the program wasn’t completely truthful about the capacity of their AI. 

According to them, Delta was only a being defined by logic. It was true, and it was untrue. And the more they grew to know one another, the more York couldn’t help but feel that logic wasn’t the best description of Delta. Delta was more _pragmatic_ after a while. 

Part of that was the simple fact that he had to constantly make a meeting of the minds with York, sure, but that alone didn’t explain things like Delta’s self interests. York never cared for cars all that much, there wasn’t anything particularly logical about spending more focus on researching and appreciating vehicle information than there was on anything else. But it was something that made Delta content in the off time they shared between picking locks and stealing information from their former employers. 

Which, in itself, had its advantages. 

York was indifferent to vehicles, sure, but he was _certainly_ opposed to walking hundreds of miles. 

He looked to his shoulder as they stopped at the garage entrance, smirking as Delta appeared. 

“Got a pick, buddy?” York questioned. 

“That one would be the most advantageous to our needs, York,” Delta answered with a nod to the far right. “It is the M274-M Ultra-Light All-Terrain Vehicle.”

Cocking his head to the side, York huffed. “Huh. It doesn’t _look_ like a Mongoose,” he said, walking toward it. He began whistling as he leaned back and forth, looking at the tires, the spokes, then subtly tossing his bags over the back bed. 

“That is because it is not,” Delta corrected, appearing again over York’s shoulder as the former Freelancer swung his leg over the seat. “You are thinking of the _M74 Ultra-Light All-Terrain Vehicle._ That is colloquialized as the Mongoose. This is the M74- _M_ Ultra--”

“Alright, got it, my mistake,” York said, looking to the wires of steering handles and beginning to ‘modify’ them. “Does the _M74-M_ have an adorable little colloquialism to match it’s obviously-not-the-same-at-all cousin? Is it a rabbit? Tell me they came out with a vehicle called a Rabbit.”

“I believe this is being referred to as a _Gungoose_ rather than _Mongoose,”_ Delta responded as the vehicle started up.

York sat up straight, taking in a deep breath. The ATV was rumbling beneath him. He closed his eyes and shook his head before looking at Delta’s projected avatar. “Gungoose? You’re shitting me.”

“No, York.”

“The fucking _names_ of these things, Dee,” York sighed, getting a grip of the handles. “I could do better. My grandma’s _dog_ could do better.”

“You neither have a grandmother or a grandmother’s dog,” Delta snipped. 

“You’re such a killjoy sometimes,” York laughed before taking off. “Alright, so we play this right and we follow whatever trail this Freelancer program’s after, we’ll be able to see who they’ve got working the field. Right?”

“That is the plan,” Delta reiterated. “The plan you made.”

“Dee, I’m not going to hold it against you if it doesn’t work out--”

“Statistically it _won’t_ work out, which is what I told you when you first decided on this course of action,” Delta reminded him. “The possibility that the agents reporting to the Freelancer sites of interest are who you believe they are--”

“I get it, Dee, but it’s not like we’ve got anything else going on,” York responded. “I just... I have to know. Either way.” He stared ahead, watching the roads wind ahead of him -- streets empty as ever on the dying shell of a colony planet. Still, he looked to Delta just enough to let the AI know where his attention was. “You’re going to guide me, right?”

“Always, York,” Delta responded with an almost sigh.

* * *

Recovering from a run-in with the Meta wasn’t something even the Recovery Unit took lightly. Carolina expected to get at least a week’s rest unless some new lead popped up. 

Four days in and it still hadn’t. Which meant Carolina had been more than ready to blow out of Recovery Command for three days too many. 

The Counselor and Director had been very selective in the freedoms they awarded Carolina. There was no joking around when they made her their “ghost agent” for the program.

Every file, every paper, every person in the program one would talk to knew about the fate of Agent Carolina -- the first official casualty of the rampancy-induced path of destruction taken by the Freelancer deserters. The only thing of mild interest about the situation was that Carolina noted that, depending on the source, _which_ rampant agent had caused her seeming demise changed dramatically. 

Regardless, no one could know about her outside of their selective circle -- other Recovery Agents couldn’t know, the various military police across the planet -- certainly no one who would have recognized her from before. 

At first it had only been the Counselor, the Director, and FILSS, but for reasons Carolina didn’t reflect on too often, the Counselor successfully made an argument for giving Carolina at least one peer -- the easy choice being the new radio officiator who could communicate with Carolina on the field instead of taking up more of the Counselor’s time.

That was when Carolina was able to reveal her true, living status with an old friend in the former Four Seven Niner. 

The fact that the pilot had just snorted and accepted that Carolina “wouldn’t have died that lamely” was something Carolina would find a way to properly thank her for some day. 

Her ghost status also kept Carolina from staying at Command too often -- there was a huge risk of running into someone while she was at the hub of the program, not to mention her hunting parties often kept her gone for weeks at a time regardless. And while she was at Command, she had to clear absolutely every move with FILSS.

Coordinating when the halls were clear, when the training room was open, when Niner’s office was open were a constant aggravation. Fortunately, at least, Carolina had her own restroom in her quarters else she might have left Command and never looked back. 

Putting the barbells back on the rack with a huff, Carolina looked to the speaker above. “FILSS, how long do I have before Niner’s office has clearance for company?”

“The Command monitoring hub is currently on lock down until the completion of Recovery Two’s away mission,” FILSS responded in her usual, polite tone. “Expected time before task completion: two hours and thirty-eight minutes.”

Carolina slowly began to remove the added weights from her wrists, considering the information for a moment. 

“So South is en route home,” she said with a nod. “What’s the status of Agent Washington?”

“Recovery One is booked in the training room until this afternoon. If needed, I could cut training short for mandatory maintenance so that you may--”

“No, that’s alright, let Wash do what he wants,” Carolina returned with a flip of her then very light wrist. “From everything his files say, he could probably use some time to blow steam.” 

She stopped, looking around to her personal weights and equipment. Carolina’s frown set against her lips and she ran a hand through sweat slicked hair. It had been a while since she read over the other Recovery Agents’ files. But it’d been even longer since there was really anything new to analyze with them. 

If she didn’t know better, she’d almost think the Counselor was at a standstill with what to do with their little non-team.

“Would you like for me to draft up an additional workout regiment for your personal equipment to pass the time, Recovery Zero?” FILSS asked sweetly.

“No, thank you, FILSS,” Carolina responded. “I think I’m going to have breakfast, though. If you could work up a dossier of all former Freelancers and their current known statuses, cross reference with any Recovery leads, I’d appreciate the _light reading.”_

“Very well, Recovery Zero. I am processing your request and shall have it finished by the time your breakfast is served.”

“Thank you, FILSS,” Carolina replied, walking toward her kitchenette, eyeing the coffee machine she had turned on just prior to her morning routine, then opening the fridge for her food. As usual, it looked like a bagel would do her for the rest of the day. 

Which was fine. She didn’t expect to be getting into any major conflicts in the next twenty-four hours. 

By the time she was taking a seat at her one-person table, FILSS had surrounded the table with vid screens, each one marking a profile for Freelancer agents. Fortunately, FILSS knew her well enough to have had the thirty-nine agents who hadn’t made it to Carolina’s team in a menu to the side, something she easily looked over. 

Carolina frowned, biting the edge of her bagel as she looked over the reported KIA -- CT, Florida, _herself_ \-- she doubted anything of interest would be in those. She had read CT’s over enough times to have it memorized, and the pang of guilt from a year ago when she first read the medical reports of Florida’s injuries after the crash still felt fairly fresh. So she turned instead to the deserters, sliding Washington and South’s files to the side. She would posibly get to them later. 

Maine’s reports were updated with the logs from her last encounter, but as she suspected there hadn’t been activity on them since. North’s was inactive, as it had been since the moment South took over the assignment. Texas was still locked down past her clearance. 

But Wyoming and York had some minor activity reported.

Narrowing her eyes, Carolina finished her breakfast and moved to their open files. It was good to have both open at the same time, because Command could look at her records and not see that she accessed one more than the other’s. 

Which was good since she was reading _very_ closely over York’s files. 

Let Washington handle Wyoming if he was on the assignment. That was fine by her, less for her to be concerned with. 

And she was very concerned with the pattern of larceny and break-ins utilizing doors and files without broken locks. _That_ felt like a pattern that she should be very concerned with.

Pulling out a pencil and pad from the table’s drawer, Carolina began to make heavy marks, recounting the last several patterns like this one she had noted from York. Not all of them were bound to really be him, but the more there were, the easier the false ones were to eliminate. 

After she marked the ones from memory then the new editions, she read over them a few times, committed them, then shredded the paper, tossing it to the trash. 

“Recovery Zero?”

Carolina shut the drawer and looked to the screens one last time. “Yes, FILSS?”

“The Command monitoring hub is clear for visitors if you would not wish to leave. From this moment on you have exactly three minutes and twenty-two seconds to make it to the hall--”

“I’ve got it, thank you, FILSS.”

*

Carolina hardly needed the full time to make it to the hub, and likewise she was hardly surprised to see a frustrated Niner tossing her headphones and mic across the room as the door opened. 

Raising a brow, Carolina walked in, the door closing behind her. “Let me guess: an average mission with South--”

“She is, by far, the most difficult of you fuckers to work with,” Niner snapped angrily, looking accusingly at Carolina. “Which, might I remind you, is a _feat_ since none of you are particularly easy to work with.”

“You keep so calm on radio, too,” Carolina noted, strolling further in. “Or is that just for me.”

“I can almost act myself with you,” Niner responded, rubbing her short haired head a little listlessly. She looked almost tiredly at Carolina. “Almost. Not quite.”

“It helps, having someone know it’s you,” Carolina surmised, pulling up a chair and sighing. “I know the feeling.”

Subconsciously, Niner’s fingers ran over her chair’s wheels, a firm frown setting on her face. “I’m sure you do,” she said thinly in return. She then looked to the monitors around her, eyes narrowing. “At least you can lie by just avoiding them. You don’t have to _talk_ to people you used to know, direct them to do shit they _know_ isn’t for their benefit, but still keep it up all the same.”

“To be fair,” Carolina pointed out, brushing some stray hairs from her forehead, “it’s not like your voice is _completely_ different. And neither of them has said anything to you about it.”

Niner stayed quiet to that, stewing over the words apparently. 

After a moment, her nostrils flared and she turned back to Carolina, her dark eyes gleaming. “You know what _really_ pisses me off, though?” she demanded.

“About?”

“South.”

Scratching at her neck, Carolina wasn’t completely sold on the right direction to take that one. “That could literally be any number of things,” she replied. “It _is_ South--”

“What pisses me off,” Niner interrupted, voice reaching full rant, “is that goddammit all, South is _right_ the majority of the time!”

Carolina frowned, drawing her eyebrows together as she processed the statement. “Explain.”

“She’s cocky and pissed and does stupid shit against my directions all the time,” Niner listed off.

“Right, sounds like South.”

“But fuck it all, Carolina, she’s _right_ , about everything.” Niner turned, glaring at the screens before her. “She’s right about the program. She’s right about us keeping secrets from her. She’s right about us fudging reports to try to keep her on task.” 

As Niner came to a pause, running a hand over her head, Carolina kept quiet. Waiting to see what else Niner needed to have heard. 

“Did you know about the other fragments?” Niner asked quietly. “The ones that were never cleared for use.”

“Yes,” Carolina admitted. “Yes, I did. The process to create fragments, whatever it was, didn’t yield favorable results every time. Even _most_ of the time. I think that’s why, as we went along, the fragments we were getting were coming out faster... and weaker.”

Niner nodded, looking to Carolina seriously. “Yeah. I thought that was the end of the story, too, but... well, apparently we held onto those broken bits. Kept them stored for, well, who knows what the fuck for.”

Carolina blinked, a little surprised at first, but then slowly nodded to herself, crossing her arms. “That _would_ fit with the motto of the program -- hell, this whole unit. Equipment’s expensive. It’s cheaper to recover it than it is to delete it. I just don’t see how much use an unusable AI fragment could be either way.”

“Yeah, well, it’s enough of a big deal that the fatheads upstairs mobilized the second they heard about the theft,” Niner explained. “See, before they had these things stored at testing facilities, but now they’re moving them all to a Level Zero storage zone, _and_ they’re tripling the security there. No one in and no one out.”

That made Carolina scowl. “They think it’s smarter to put _everything_ in one centralized location? Really?”

“That’s what I’d think,” Niner agreed, tossing her head back a bit. “But then again, when you think about it, maybe it’s good to put _all_ your security on one prize rather than to split it up.”

“Or...” Carolina began, bringing a knuckle to her lips, “to have any evidence against you in one location that’s hard to pinpoint and easy to get rid of if you need to.” Her eyes flickered toward Niner. “Did you say it was clearance level zero?”

“You heard me right,” Niner responded. “Why, you going to check it out?”

“Why not?” Carolina responded, getting to her feet. “It sounds suspicious, I have clearance, and more than any of that, I’ve got nothing on my schedule today.”

“I’m not going to stop you,” Niner responded, tilting her head. “Just be careful out there. Like we said: big target.”

Carolina gave Niner a smirk and headed out the door. “FILSS, ready my armor for the field.”

* * *

The drive there on had been oddly relaxing, the hum of the _Gungoose_ beneath him, the spread of knowledge as Delta fed the directions directly to him, the way the roads seemed to grow only emptier and emptier as they crossed the planet. 

Travel was just about the only time that York truly felt like he could _think_ anymore. Maybe because Delta was just busy enough to not give a running commentary on absolutely everything, maybe because York himself had just enough of a goal in sight that he didn’t have to find himself thinking over the last several years. There was no telling which, really. But it was nice. It was something that made the endless heat of the sun not seem as daunting as they carried forward. 

_York,_ Delta whispered directly to him, not wasting time over the radio or projecting. _I am detecting a nearby AI.  
_

York frowned a bit, gripping a little tighter to his handles. “You don’t say? Well, that’s been both a good thing and a bad thing in the past. Which one is it right now, Dee?”

 _Considering the signal is not being purposefully projected_ , _I would assume friendly._

For a moment, York grew quiet, soaking in the information. They had been almost tricked by a fake signal before, but Delta had become even more particular since then. And after that last time, well, there was really only one AI Delta would openly call a “friendly.”

He let out a huff and smiled. “No kidding? Well, Dee, throw me some directions. I think we should stop and say _hi_ to some old friends.”

_It would still be wise to approach the situation with caution, York--_

“I know, we _are_ , but you seem pretty confident already, so let’s give it a go,” York responded, pulling off the road just as Delta’s change of directions recommended. “You don’t have to worry so much about this stuff, Dee. I can handle myself. I’m not some fresh recruit, all right?”

As they came to a stop, Delta finally projected, his head cocking slightly to the side as he looked at York. “It wasn’t my intention to sound as if you were, York. Merely, I was attempting to remind you that our situation is still precarious.” York nodded and hummed to the AI’s words even as he dug around in his rucksack and reloaded his weapons. “As it will remain until we leave--”

York stopped with a roll of his eye. Turning his head at Delta, he couldn’t suppress the frown. “Oh, come on, Dee. You _can’t_ start this up again.”

“It’s the most logical thing to do in our situation, York,” Delta said almost in exasperation. “Outside of Freelancer’s controlled testing grounds we would have more options.”

“Not the ones I want, though,” York said pointedly. “Now, you want to do this cautiously?”

“Please,” Delta said almost cheekily. 

“Alright,” York whispered, nearing the seemingly empty gas station. “Going in stealth. Sync?”

 _Sync,_ Delta whispered in his mind once again. 

York smirked, nearing the door just before Delta began blaring in his mind to duck, which he did but not before there was an audible _click_ of a gun. York could feel Delta’s attention already moving toward prepping the healing unit when there was a familiar laugh, followed by a second familiar laugh. Then York caught up to reality and realized there had been no sound to follow that click.

He turned, hands up, to see North on top of the almost ruined gas station sign. Theta glowing by his shoulder. 

It took a moment for North to fully return the favor, but York could practically see that big grin on North’s face as the man slung his sniper rifle over his shoulder and began to lower from the sign. 

“Nice heads up, Dee,” York sighed.

“Theta has gotten better at projecting his signal,” Delta explained, popping up over York’s own shoulder. “I was still picking up a source from within the gas station. My apologies--”

“Oh, don’t apologize to that old bum,” North laughed, coming over to them. He nodded from Delta to York. “An ex-Freelancer shouldn’t have to have his hand held in a simple exploratory raid.” He tilted his head back at Delta. “Good to see you, Green Guy.”

“Hi! Hi, Delta! Hi! It’s me!” Theta burst from a cloud of fireworks over North’s own shoulder. 

“Greetings, North. And to you, too, Theta,” Delta said very formally. 

York lowered his arms, slipping his sidearm back into place. He looked over North a bit. “In my defense, I’ve been on the road for a while.”

“I noticed,” North responded, throwing a thumb toward the sign. “I followed you from about the bypass. You’re as reckless as ever.”

“Agreed,” Delta hummed beside York.

Giving his partner a look, York shook his head before looking back at North. “Yeah, it’s good and all that you’ve got a nice scope still, but it’s funny you saw me from the bypass because Dee and I picked up you guys projecting a frequency from the main highway. That’s the only reason we were even interested in getting off the bypass.”

Theta released a small “uh oh” and shrank into nothing from North’s shoulder before the former Freelancer could fully turn his face to give the young AI a look. 

North sighed, more beleaguered than anything else, and put his hands on his hips as he looked at York. “We’ve had a bit of a long trip of it ourselves,” he tried to excuse. “But, c’mon, let’s catch up inside where we’re less likely to get seen. Not to mention I was starting up a just _beautiful_ fire that would go great with those cans of beans you grabbed out of your rucksack.”

Letting himself smile again, York didn’t resist at all as his old friend put an arm around his shoulders and led him toward the gas station. 

“It’s been a while,” York sighed fondly. 

“It’s been too long,” North agreed. 

*

Considering the past year, York took unbelievable comfort just out of something as simple as seeing North alive and well again. And, _especially_ considering how they had left things, it was nice to see him smiling, too. 

“I have to admit,” York said as he watched North stoke the flames, “you don’t look _quite_ as shit as I was expecting.” 

There was a tired laugh from North as he looked over his shoulder toward York. “I could say the same for you, but you look _pretty shit_.”

“York has trouble sleeping,” Delta chimed in.

Giving the AI’s sprite a look, York folded his arms. “No one asked to know that, Delta.”

“It was pertinent information as to your physical condition,” Delta defended.

“I don’t think it was,” York responded. 

“Your objection will be clearly cataloged then,” Delta replied before turning back toward North and Theta.

York sighed, putting a hand on his chin and leaning forward. “You see what I have to put up with?”

Theta laughed right by North’s ear as the man straightened back up and set a pot on the flames. “You two are always so much fun. I’m glad we’re back together.”

With that, York released a long sigh, hanging his head and glaring at the floor. Him and North, ol’ peas in the pod from Freelancer. The winning combo of trouble in the mess hall and locker room alike. 

Back before Freelancer stopped making sense, the two of them could pick right back up at any point with ease. 

North clicked his tongue and watched the soups come to a boil.

“It _is_ nice to have company of the more living-breathing-kind again,” North said. “You know, when I don’t have to look down a scope to get it.” His eyes looked back to York, a little concerned and more than a little knowing. “But I guess I might not be the kind of company you want.”

York scowled at his boots. “I never blamed you,” he said clearly. “I just... disagree with the call.”

“You went with my call,” North reminded York steadily. “It was the right choice, York. We weren’t going to get in there. It was too much, the security was too tight. And Wash...”

For a moment, York’s eye flickered up toward North, giving him a steady, warning glare. His fellow former Freelancer merely sighed and held up his hands. 

“I’m not doing this again,” North said simply. “But you can’t keep chasing ghosts if you want--”

“I’m not chasing ghosts,” York said firmly. “I’m following leads -- you can’t tell me you believe that bull about Carolina having been killed by _Maine_ of all people. He couldn’t have even touched her at hand to hand--”

“A lot of confusion was in the air during the crash, York,” North reminded him. “And don’t think I didn’t notice this Carolina stuff only started becoming your focus _after_ what happened with Wash.”

“You just don’t understand it, North,” York responded tiredly, rubbing at his face. “I... I _promised_ him. I _promised_ him that we were going to get him out of there, out of Freelancer, and--”

“Did it ever occur to you that Wash needed help, York?” North asked seriously. “After what Epsilon did to him, after those _weeks_ of him screaming his head off... I’m not entirely sure that running off to live the fugitive lifestyle with us was going to do him any favors.” He waved between the two of them. “Look at us? We’re scraping by as it is.”

“They’re _not_ helping him,” York said darkly. “I don’t know _what_ Freelancer is doing, but you didn’t see him up close like I did. You didn’t see what he looked like. He wasn’t getting any help. He was _sick.”  
_

“And that was a year ago, York,” North reminded him. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And here we are talking about it again...”

“You _did_ start it all, North,” Theta chided. 

York looked wearily toward them, then to Delta who gave a slight nod. He huffed and leaned forward again. “No. It’s my fault. Let’s just drop it. I’m too happy to see you guys to want to dig around in this old stuff. It just makes us miserable and old.” He looked to the white patches just over North’s ears and snorted. “Well, _some_ of us older than others.”

“I look regal,” North laughed. His eyes seemed particularly grateful, though. “And besides, I have a feeling we’re parting ways eventually. You were coming from the eastbound so I’m assuming you’re going west.”

“And by your questioning I’m guessing _you’re_ going east,” York frowned. “That city is _dead,_ and my last few break ins aren’t going to make it much easier for you to sneak around.”

“Oh, that’s fine, I expect to stir up some reports myself,” North responded with a wave of his hand. “I’m laying some bait.”

York blinked a few times at that information, cocking his head to the side. “Baiting? You’re _trying_ to get them on your tail, you crazy son of a bitch?”

“Well, _one_ of them,” North said, swatting away at Theta’s projection as the tiny AI matched York’s exasperated head shaking. 

“God, you’re _still_ trying to get a hold of South,” York responded, a bit amazed. “And you were giving _me_ a hard time.”

“I suppose that _does_ make me a bit of a hypocrite,” North responded as he stirred the pot. “But in my defense, she came looking for me first. Now we’re just, well, doing a little song and dance. Trying to play it careful.”

“North shot her car,” Theta explained dryly.

“I did,” North agreed.

“I think you’re shaking the hornet’s nest,” York said firmly. “I’d watch out with her, North. It’s been just a year since the last time _we_ saw each other, and I feel like we’re two completely different people. Can you imagine how different your sister is by now?”

North’s eyes seemed to tint with something dangerous, as they used to even in Freelancer when the subject of his twin would come up, but he kept his pleasant smile all the same. “The truth is, York, the good thing about being a twin is that we _do_ know each other that well. She’s not the same person, sure, but she’s my twin. And I’m not the same man I was either. We’ve both changed, probably more in same ways than different ones.”

York looked over North carefully before sighing. “I can appreciate that. Do what you want, man. I can’t stop you. I doubt anyone could. Just. Be careful.”

“I’d tell you the same,” North responded, beginning to pour the soup into the two crappy bowels they had scrounged together. “But I’m sure you get that enough from Delta.”

“Apparently not,” Delta spoke up.

“Alright, alright,” York laughed. “Let’s just enjoy dinner with friends for once.”

North smiled, handing York a bowel. “With friends.”

Over North’s shoulder, Theta couldn’t have looked more pleased.

* * *

Niner was good about making sure her “loan” of the mongoose wasn’t detected, but beyond that Carolina had to rely on skill and gumption to break into the guarded facility.

Freelancer was apparently intent on keeping the facility and its contents close, it was only a few miles’ drive from Command, making the agent wonder if perhaps they were going to start putting all recovered artifacts and equipment in this new storage. 

Even so close to the entire Recovery Unit, however, it was still filled to the brim with armed guards, soldiers facing everywhere and armed to the teeth. They seemed to all be wearing the standard Recovery officer armor, but their weapons were anything _but_ standard. 

She peered through her binoculars, sized up the security, and then leaned forward against the handlebars as she dropped them. Her frown set. 

“I’m going to have to ask for a few upgrades,” she decided. “I would’ve never guessed they were holding out on me.”

Carolina closed up the binoculars, tucking them into her side pocket, and slowly pulled the mongoose into a better shadowed area. It was close enough for escape but hopefully further than anyone would bother patrolling while she snooped around. 

If she had some enhancements -- her favored speed boost, the armor cloak, _anything_ of use in the field, really -- she could have zipped right through without risking her ghostly status, but without AI to maintain them, those would never happen. 

Instead, she relied on her stealth. 

Like any well trained soldiers, those patrolling the outer perimeters of the Freelancer facility moved in a well timed minutia. Everyone stayed in line, and there left very little gaps for opportunity to access the high voltage security gates.

There wasn’t a big enough lapse for anyone to hack the lock between patrols, but fortunately for Carolina, with Level Zero clearance there was no need to hack. 

Ducking between patrols, she quickly accessed FILSS’ keypad, inserted the Zero access code, and wasted no time in entering the gate, shutting it behind her as silently as possible. 

Smooth as silk. 

Once inside the main area, patrols were even more congested, but Carolina knew her way around enough Freelancer architecture to direct herself in the first building she saw and begin looking for access to lower levels, which made for the rest of her adventure to be going in rather blind. 

“Guess it’s time to call on an old friend,” Carolina decided, sneaking her way toward the first access terminal she could find. 

Looking over her shoulder one last time, Carolina made sure no one was coming before patching a line to FILSS. 

“Hello. I am the Freelancer Integrated Logistics and Security System. You may call me FILSS.”

“Hello, FILSS,” Carolina greeted in a hushed tone. “This is Recovery Zero. I am requesting a full schematic of the facility.”

The computer hesitated, most likely checking out voice recordings, before, “Why, hello, Recovery Zero. I am glad you are visiting with Freelancer Command Storage Facility. I shall bring up the schematics for this facility. Is there any other assistance I can give you in the meantime?”

“Yes,” Carolina responded, leaning in closer. “FILSS, I’m going to ask you to delete all recordings of Recovery Zero’s visits to this facility once you have recorded that I have left the premise.”

“That would be dishonest.”

“Yes, it will be,” Carolina stayed firm.

FILSS paused again before, “Command acknowledged. Here are your schematics, Recovery Zero.”

“Thank you as always, FILSS,” Carolina said, looking to the larger screen as the detailed map of the facility appeared. She couldn’t help but release a low whistle at the shear scope of the place. 

Her head turned slightly. “With this level of clearance, the patrols, the _maze_ they have going on here... they might actually be on to something. I don’t know if the Meta _could_ make it in here and find what it wants if it could.”

When she noticed the AI storage room, she quickly memorized her way and then looked back to FILSS. 

“Go ahead and close, FILSS, I’m done here,” Carolina ordered before crouching down and beginning her way toward the hall again. 

“Very well. Have a pleasant day, Recovery Zero.”

Guards were not nearly as heavy in the lower levels, but a part of Carolina couldn’t help but wonder how much of that was due to the Director and Counselor’s paranoia -- how many of these drones of agents did they trust enough around the equipment of Freelancer full time? Even she was not given access.

To the equipment, weapons, even the Director’s location. 

Just the thought of which made her teeth grit even as she came upon the room. 

She stopped just outside, looked at the security lock, then entered her access code. 

There was a pause where Carolina worried that, just perhaps, the code wouldn’t work when, finally, the lock lit green and there was an audible click. Carolina opened the door.

Her jaw dropped, eyes darting around the room as she slowly entered, not even making sure the door didn’t slam behind her. She was just too much in awe to really notice or care. 

“My god,” she whispered, looking at the rows upon rows of glowing sheets of numbers and screens, all active, all pulsing. All _labeled_ in various letters. 

Almost instinctively, she reached for the back of her helmet, where just inside her neural implants were. There was a piece of her mind and a bit of her chest that _ached_ for the hum of Eta and Iota. 

And it was the very second their memory resurfaced in her mind that she felt it -- the throbbing pulse that sent shivers down her spine. 

She turned, facing a lining of the sheet-like drawers of AI, as if she simply knew it was from one of them. 

Carolina narrowed her eyes, walking toward it, stopping only when she felt another strong pulse. She screwed her eyes shut. It was stronger. Then she stepped closer, feeling her brow begin to sweat as she could hear calls of _Sunshine_ and _Partner_ and _Friend_ behind her eyes again.

“STOP IT!” she yelled at herself, finally breaking from the strange trance, breaking from the throb at the base of her skull, and realizing her hand was on the lever to pull out a sheet. 

Slowly, she dropped her hand, eyes widening as she saw the label beneath. 

_“ **ε** “_

“Epsilon?” she whispered, taking a step back. “They didn’t delete it? Even after what it did to Wash?” Even as the words left her mouth, Carolina began to glower at the floor. “No. Of course they wouldn’t have. After all... cheaper to recover something than it is to delete it.” Her eyes turned back to that haunting letter. “Unless it’s people of course. Right, Director?”

At just the mention of the Director, Epsilon sent out a violent, screeching pulse. Carolina could not stop her own recoil, releasing a surprised yelp as she tumbled back, grabbing at her helmet.

“I’ve had enough of this place. I’ve seen what I needed,” she decided angrily. 

Standing straight, she glared at the Epsilon unit, stepping forward just enough to glare it in its “face.” “And for the record, Epsilon, do that _again,_ and you and I are going to have some issues.”

She turned, leaving rather furious. 

And if there was a whisper that sounded strangely like _Sorry, Sunshine_ in the back of her head, Carolina pretended she didn’t hear it. 

*

Niner hardly even turned to greet her when she slipped back into the hub, her eyes set on the various monitors. 

Carolina took off her helmet, eyes darting toward the screens but quickly losing interest once she was sure they were just Wash and South. Monitoring them inside the facility wasn’t part of Niner’s job as a field communication director, but she seemed particularly interested in it all the same. 

It was something Carolina wished she’d leave to FILSS.

“Did you miss me?” Carolina asked as the door closed behind her. 

“Your seat’s not even cold yet,” Niner responded, looking over her shoulder slightly. She sized Carolina up a bit then returned to monitoring, she seemed more relaxed, though. “I’m guessing you didn’t find the excitement you were looking for. That’s the only reason to come back to my fun room with your tail tucked between your legs.”

She stared at the back of Niner’s head for a moment, made her way back to the chair. “I didn’t find excitement. But I found things that were still... _interesting_ , I suppose.”

“Mmhmm,” Niner hummed in return, closing down Wash and South’s screens as one moved toward the kitchen and the other to private quarters. “I’m guessing it’s the kind of interesting that you’re not going to share, though. We can’t really talk about too much of substance.”

Carolina scowled a bit. She didn’t miss the purposeful bite to those words. 

“That’s a two way street,” Carolina reminded her. “Do you want to talk about the crash?”

Almost immediately, Niner’s shoulders tensed and she whirled around, eyes wild, to look Carolina back. It was the sort of look that might have made Carolina regret her dig if she had been someone else. 

Instead, Carolina just stared back in wait. 

“That’s...” Niner took a strong breath, put one hand on her knees and another gripping to a wheel. She shook her head, letting out a frustrated laugh. “Ah, you bitch.” She glared fully at Carolina. “You want to go this way, Carolina? How about you and I talk a bit about the Director then.”

Whatever malicious satisfaction Carolina felt before evaporated. She glared back at Niner, grip tightening. 

“What makes you think I have any interest in the Director?” she asked thinly.

Niner grinned a bit darkly at that, letting out a snort. “What? just because there isn’t a _doctor_ in front of my name you think I can’t read writing on the goddamn walls, Carolina? From the second I found out you were alive, you’ve only been concerned about two things: the Meta and the Director. And you _talk_ about them almost the same. Except with the Meta you almost sound empathetic.”

“I don’t give a _damn_ about the Director,” Carolina declared. “Even less. I only care as much about him as he ever has me.”

“Or, you know, any _other_ agents, too,” Niner pointed out, fingers tapping on her knees. “Like Wash or South.”

“Why do you always bring them back up?” Carolina demanded.

“Because you won’t,” Niner snapped. “Fuck, Carolina -- they were members of your squad. Your _team._ You were their leader. And you’ve not so much as blinked their way. You’ve never even _thought_ of bringing them in on the rest of this. I just can’t figure that shit out.”

“I’m a ghost,” Carolina reminded Niner. “I operate alone. I’m not _allowed_ to contact anyone who would compromise that.”

“And, of course, you care a lot about that as someone who would _never_ break rules and _never_ break into into a secure facility just for the hell of whatever idea you got stuck in your head,” Niner countered immediately. Her fingers tapped on. “Are you going to tell me what interests you so much?”

Carolina folded her arms. “No.”

“Then I guess that’s the end of that one,” Niner responded, turning back around. “I just think you should remember, Carolina, _you’re_ the one who says this Meta thing is only getting better every time you encounter it. _And_ you’ve not successfully taken him down once. So whatever side mission or adventurous curiosity you’re _actually_ entertaining outside of your stated object? It’s not going to help you with what you need to take down the Meta.”

“So now you’re an expert on the Meta, good,” Carolina responded, getting up from the chair. “Then you won’t mind telling me what _will_ take it down.”

“Sure, smartass,” Niner said. “A team. You’re going to need a team, Carolina. And, guess what, the more you play _ghost,_ the less candidates for that you’re going to have.”

For a moment, Carolina considered those words, but she knew she had overstayed her welcome. Without another word, she headed out the door. 

* * *

York found sleeping to be too difficult, even if it should have been a comfort to know that an extra AI was keeping watch. Not to mention North had taken to the rooftop of the gas station just in case.

 

Instead of sleeping, York stared at the ceiling, listening the prattle in his brain as Delta counted down the seconds until they were scheduled to leave. 

“I think North getting mixed up with South again is going to be a mistake,” he whispered finally, trying to break the droning silence. 

_Perhaps,_ Delta responded in a comforting hum. _It would be advantageous for you to get some rest before driving, York. You seem... unnerved at the moment._

“It just doesn’t feel right,” York sighed, throwing an arm over his head. “He’s my best friend, Dee. He’s my best friend, I want to look out for him but...”

 _If you are concerned, I do believe Agent North was speaking truthfully when he said that he had forgiven you for the last altercation,_ Delta hummed. _The only one still upset by the failed rescue is you._

“Who’s side are you on?” York grumped.

_Yours, York. Always yours._

“Yeah,” York sighed. “I guess you are. I just. Man, Dee. What I wouldn’t give for us to just have another chance -- at tracking down where Wash is or where Carolina--”

_You seem to be having a hard time letting the past go, York. Why is that?  
_

The question surprised him a bit. York lowered his arm, crossing his hands on his stomach as he considered the question. It wasn’t Delta’s usual form, but just as pointed all the same. 

“I just want us to be able to all be together again,” York said simply. “We were a family in Freelancer. I thought we were, anyway. Carolina... Wash... North... at the end we were all falling apart, but I know that doesn’t make those bonds any less. And if they _are_ any less... well, it’s because... I let them down. I just _couldn’t_ get to Carolina. Maybe if I’d had time to explain it to her-- I don’t know. And Wash... Dee, we left him. There’s no getting around that. We might’ve gotten out, might’ve survived because of it, but we left him. And, Dee, you don’t leave behind your friends. You don’t leave behind _family._ Ever.”

There was a hum as Delta processed it, another as he marked off yet another hour until they planned to leave. 

_I believe I understand somewhat,_ Delta replied at last. _I believe several AI from the program feel a considerable amount of regret in leaving each other, and leaving our programmed obligations to Freelancer itself._

York blinked. “Do you?”

 _I do not,_ Delta said firmly. _I was always more agreeable to viewing our objectives at Freelancer as not being completely right or wrong, rather just opposing those we encountered. Learning that in the eyes of the law Freelancer was morally objectionable is not so difficult to believe. It makes logical sense.  
_

“Well,” York laughed, “that _would_ appeal to you.”

 _It does,_ Delta agreed. _Still, I believe your feelings on friends, family, and Freelancer are not that far removed from North’s insistence on reuniting with Agent South. Perhaps you are more understanding of his motivations than you realize._

“You might be right, Dee,” York responded, rubbing at his face. “I just don’t know if I trust South.”

 _That would be where I stand as well,_ Delta said firmly. _I do not trust her. And if she is still connected to Freelancer, odds are she is not someone we want to cross paths with.  
_

“That and last time I saw her I decked her and helped kidnap her,” York reminded Delta. “I would not like to be in range of her nearest firearm the next time we see each other.”

_A wise decision._

“That almost sounded like a compliment, I’ll take it,” York snarked back. “Tell you what, Delta, I’m glad we had this talk. I get North a bit more. But I don’t think we should stick around. If anything, I’m _inspired_ to go after Carolina and Wash more than ever.”

_One of these is more feasible than the other, York.  
_

“Oh, she’s alive, ye of little faith,” York countered, smirking. “I just know it.”

*

The rucksack was lighter when he strapped it down. There was a bit of an angry hum, like a stirring of bees, in the back of his mind about it, but York didn’t mind sharing what it he had with an old friend.

“I’ll owe you,” North joked as he packed up some of the supplies and tightened his own bags. “Just wish you had a spare vehicle.”

“No one’s _that_ lucky,” York countered. “But, hey, for what it’s worth, I wish I had been just so I could give it to you.”

“You’re too kind,” North replied dryly. 

“But you’re not too far from the city, just watch the roads,” York promised, nodding to his shoulder as Delta projected. “Isn’t that right, Dee?”

“It is correct,” Delta responded. “And if Theta would not mind giving me permission, I will share the logs and city schematics I obtained during our stay there.”

“Oh boy!” Theta exploded from a spark of light right by North’s head. “Thanks, Delta! You’re the best brother ever!”

York felt himself flinch and gave Delta a curious look. It wasn’t often that his AI felt something so strongly it overrode York’s own reflexes. He made a note to ask him about it later. 

“Transferring,” Delta said, apparently ignoring York’s accusatory look. 

“Hey,” North spoke up, crossing his arms as he looked to York. “I want you to promise to listen to Delta more. Try to stay safe for once. Keep your eyes open.“

“Eye,” York corrected.

“That’s not funny, York,” North sighed.

“It’s a little funny,” York replied before throwing back his head and groaning. “You’re not _everyone’s_ big brother, North.”

“Doesn’t hurt to keep trying it, though, maybe someday I’ll actually manage to take care of one of you.”

York stared at North for a long moment, lost on what to say back when Theta swooped in for the rescue, appearing just on top of North’s helmet, laying across the top and hanging his head down to look through North’s visor. 

“You take care of me!” Theta reminded him.

“Yeah, I guess I do an okay job of that,” North replied with a soft laugh that didn’t quite let the tension out between them all.

“Transfer complete,” Delta spoke up. “York, we need to leave within the next ten minutes to avoid highway patrol--”

“Okay, okay,” York said, motioning for Delta to hush. He looked back to North. Swallowing, York reached out his hand, firmly grasping North’s when his friend returned it. “Take care of yourself as much as you take care of everyone else, I wouldn’t have to worry so much, alright?”

“No promises,” North laughed. “Now, go on, get out of here. I refuse to be the butt of some bar joke ten years from now where ‘sobbing North got me caught by border patrol.’“

York smirked and headed to the Gungoose, starting it up easily enough. 

As he took off, York couldn’t help but feel one of them -- whether it was him or North -- was about to make a mistake. 


	6. Recovery One II: Increased Aggression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent Washington's suspicions of Recovery Command continue to find reason to grow. 
> 
> Meanwhile, the situation at Blood Gulch gets complicated when Tex sees a familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks so much everyone! I’m really excited about getting to the point where these plot threads tie together in a big way – still a little ways off – but laying the ground work has been really fun and I’m always impressed with how much everyone’s picked up on several of the beats. You guys are awesome!
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, meirelle, and @its-york-catch for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

The canyon, Tex decided after just two weeks, was a compete shit hole. 

Days of listening to the complaining from Red Base and seeing absolutely _nothing_ going on was beginning to drive her slightly up the wall, which was the only reason she could say that she actually appreciated the so-called Captain Flowers.

Flowers was good at his job. He maintained the level of chaos in Blue Base, delegated menial tasks to his privates, and kept as much time on them as he did on making sure he could look up and stare directly at every hiding spot Tex could find. All with a smile and an easy going voice. 

In a way, it made her respect him. In another it made her hate his guts to the point that Omega’s whispering in her mind almost made some sense. 

“I don’t feel like killing him,” she would put off with a shrug the more and more her AI pushed for it. _You do you do you do--_ “No,” she remained firm. “I really don’t.”

It had been a long time since she even considered pulling the AI. Omega had the disturbing ability to jump from host to host given a frequency between them, and he was rather dedicated to staying with his assigned partner, with grinding at her gears, at whispering his need for grandeur. 

And at maintaining his muttering of _failures_ toward her. 

“You’re like a bad flu,” she determined once. “And when you think you’ve won, I’m going shake you.”

She hadn’t yet. But she looked _oh_ so forward to it once it came. 

Still, his lack of interest in Church seemed curious to her. Made her think that perhaps the pieces weren’t as together in her mind as she had once thought.

After all, wasn’t it the goal of the various fragments to unite with their Father AI? 

Tex couldn’t tell for sure, all she _could_ tell for sure was that Omega was stuck to her like glue for the time being, and that Flowers was once again staring right at the crevice in the rockfacing where Tex had wedged herself in.

“Son of a _bitch!”_ she roared, punching as hard as she could at the opposing wall, cracking the rocks and causing more than a few to fall. 

Flowers continued to stare. 

“Whoa what was that?” Church asked, turning to face the wall.

“I think it’s a rock,” Tucker responded, hands on his hips as he looked up and down the cliff.

“Oh, a _rock._ No fucking _duh_ it was a rock. I mean what knocked the rock down the cliff to begin with!” 

“Probably gravity.”

“You’re an idiot!” 

“No, dude, _you’re_ an idiot. I’m a charmer.”

Tex flung her head back against the rocks behind her and released an aggravated groan. “I could take them all out right now from this position,” she sighed to herself almost wistfully. “It’d take... maybe ninety seconds. Two minutes tops.”

“Alright, boys,” Flower drawled, turning toward the Blue privates with a big, overly enthusiastic clap of his hands. “Let’s shape this base up some more. I spoke to Command and we have some _very_ exciting new developments on the way.”

“Oh, finally! They’re getting me more comfortable armor!” Tucker said with a charge of his fist. 

“Surely not,” Church huffed. “Sensitive nipples are _not_ a reason to get out of wearing standard issue armor, Tucker.”

“Hey, Church? Did you want to know what flew away just then to knock those rocks down? They were the fucks I gave about your opinion, so sorry.”

Flowers let out a long laugh. “Ah, you strapping young men and your playful banter,” he said with a hum. “I am very pleased at you two getting along like two old chums, but I think the most important thing right now is for us to get the base ready for our new equipment _and_ our brand new arrival!”

“Arrival?” Church questioned. 

“Equipment! Oh man, I hope it’s a car. A tricked out, super awesome car. Chicks love cars.”

“Alright, you two, you can continue the chitter chatter but you have to do so while cleaning up our base!” Flowers continued. “Let’s get a move on.”

“Yessir,” Church and Tucker sighed in harmony. 

Tex grunted, shouldering her gun and leaning back into the rocks. 

“I still have a bad feeling about this place,” she whispered to herself. “A _real_ bad feeling.”

*

Her watches were, by their very nature, time consuming. She had been considering rapping up for the day, return to a broader canvas of the area just outside the box canyon, when her final headcount proved that, once more, Flowers was out of the picture.

The former Freelancer was not someone she liked dropping off her radar for any circumstances and the moment she realized he had managed to leave by distraction again, she went on high alert.

He had taken her by surprise once. Tex wasn’t going to let that happen again. 

Church and Tucker were, once more, getting nothing accomplished as they bantered, but at the very least it meant Tex could put her entire focus on Flowers without missing much on the sim troopers’ ends. 

At first she scanned the area just peripherally, confident that Flowers wouldn’t have wandered far, but that, and the quick search within the Blue Base, proved to be a waste of her time. 

When she was beginning to wonder what else she could do, she noticed a few small rocks tumbling down the rock facing. 

Her eyes narrowed and Tex looked up to the top of the cliff, well over a hundred foot drop. 

“Nothing is ever simple she growled at herself before beginning her climb up. 

The irritation she bore toward the task seemed to only double for Omega by comparison. She gritted her teeth and hated every glare of the sun, every misplaced footing, ever grinding of her gears and circuits, until at last she reached the summit. 

And from there she could hear the rush of gunfire from a silencer. 

Eyes widening, she pulled up, activating the cloak of her armor as she did so, and laid in wait to see the situation for what it was.

Flowers’ aqua armor listened in the sun, a few scuffs on his plating but otherwise fairly undamaged. He was in full stance, gun in one hand and knife in the other as he squared against the white armored man before him.

Tex’s scowled. “Wyoming,” she muttered to herself. 

The third former Freelancer chuckled as he reloaded his weapon, cocking his head back. “Good show on you, mate. I had hoped you were still up to snuff.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, Wyoming,” Flowers said almost fondly, his stance never once dropping from anything threatening. “I have lots of time to exercise and hone skills out here with my assignment.”

“Ah,” Wyoming said, a pale blue glow sparking by his shoulder before rapidly disappearing, “so it _is_ here.”

Tex reached for her throwing knife, her chest clenching at the realization that someone else was looking for Church, and began to toss it just before the blue glow flared between her and Wyoming. 

“Reggie.”

Wyoming dropped below the knife, firing off his weapon just as Flowers looked toward Tex in surprise. The Freelancer took the hit to his left shoulder, letting out a seething grunt as he flung back. He shot at Wyoming, making the Freelancer back up, also looking surprised at everything that had just happened. 

“My word, _that_ was quite unexpected,” Wyoming said, holding two guns -- one toward Flowers and the other toward Tex’s location. He nodded toward her. “Come on out, now. My little friend here has a tracker on you. There’s no need for fancy equipment.”

“You say with your fancy equipment, Wyoming,” Tex growled, dropping her cloak all the same once she was armed again. “I see you and Florida have reunited on good terms.”

“Well well _well_ , if it isn’t our old, rabble rousing friend, Agent _Texas,”_ Wyoming almost cooed. Gamma flickered over his shoulder then, once again, disappeared. “And I’d assume we also have the pleasurable company of your old partner Omega.”

“Hey, Wyoming, fuck off with the formalities and get to the point,” Tex snarled.

“I will take that as a _yes_ ,” Wyoming chuckled. “And for the record, Florida and I were on excellent terms before this mishap. I am _dreadfully_ sorry, mate.”

“Flesh heals,” Flowers responded with a grunt, rising from the ground. “Though I meant every word about protecting my soldiers, Wyoming. I don’t have any interest in fighting an old friend otherwise. But you know me. I _will.”_

At that, the white armored Freelancer almost seemed to deflate. He sighed sorrowfully. “It is what it is,” he sighed, looking to his shoulder as Gamma appeared. “Gary? I don’t believe we can take this one. Not quite yet.”

“Gary?” Tex repeated with a blink. She shook her head. “Look, Wyoming, I don’t give a fuck. Your real concern is that if you’re here for what I _think_ You’re here for, you’re going to have to deal with me. And I’ll be honest: _not_ your biggest fan here.”

“Oh, dear Tex,” Wyoming chuckled. “Believe me, knowing what I do now about you and our circumstances, you are the _furthest_ concern from my mind.”

If Tex had veins, she imagined they would be ready to pop. She took a step toward him. “You wanna come over to my fucking face and say that?”

She watched gleefully as the man, in turn, took two steps back. 

“Ha ha, dear me, no,” he responded. “But I _shall_ be leaving for the time. It’s perhaps not within the best interests of my my companion and mine to continue on with this precise plan. And I do wish to respect a former teammate’s request.”

“I’d rather you reconsider what you’re doing at all, Wyoming,” Flowers said seriously, reaching for his injured shoulder. “I don’t think you fully realize what you’re getting into.” 

“And that, my friend, is where you are wrong,” Wyoming said. He tipped his head toward Tex. “Adieu, dear Tex--”

She fired dead on for his head only to watch as, inexplicably, Wyoming was gone. She looked around in bewilderment. “How did he--”

“That’s the least of our concerns for how,” Flowers said with a sigh. “Oh, Wyoming. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.”

Tex glared at the man, teeth grinding. “You better start explaining what’s going on here.”

“I think it’s pretty self evident, Texas,” he responded, heading toward the long route through the canyon, by the cave system. “You think on it, I’ll tend to myself and get my soldiers indoors for the time being.”

She glared after him. “You’re not going to tell me anything you know?”

He paused, looking back at her. “Tex, I’m certain it’s nothing you don’t already know... you just have to think about it.” 

With that, Flowers headed for home. Tex glared after. 

That night she did no less than two full canvases of the canyon for Wyoming and found nothing. Yet by morning, she was blindly into a disaster.

* * *

Wash opened his eyes at four in the morning, which was unsurprising considering that he hadn’t exactly spent the last two hours _asleep_ so much as _wishing_ he were. 

The struggle of delineating memories into their proper place only became harder the closer he got to answers. He was always careful when trying to predict what the Director had done or had wanted for that reason.

Even with the most logically placed divisions of his memories, Washington had to more often than not fight the emotions they gave him. And it wasn’t always easy simple to ignore how numbed and distant he felt toward a memory that was certainly one that belonged to _David_ while he was invested and angered and fixated in one that belonged to -- 

Well, that was the question: where did a fragment’s memories end where an AI’s memories began where the disturbed man’s end? 

He had spent so much time sorting memories, feelings, knowledge, trying to protect himself from all the parts of his mind that so _weren’t_ anymore, and he still couldn’t break through the mess that Epsilon had left him. 

It was the Gordian Knot, and Wash was ready to cut through it all. 

The problem, though, was how strongly he felt that being able to get to the source would give him a definitive answer of how to get his way out, how to get to the man who had started it all. 

But that would have to come when it did. He had to take it one day at a time, first.

He sat on the edge of his cot, took a breath, came to terms with the quarters and Command, and began his routine. 

The graveyard shift was as dead as ever, only one soldier crossed his path the entire time. His coffee was the same piss poor excuse it was every morning -- god forbid they get decent stuff shipped in -- but it did its job. 

And like every morning at Command that he started out these same ways, he made his way to the training room soon after finishing his cup.

Only this time FILSS informed him that he was scheduled for elsewhere in the facility. 

“The Counselor wishes to speak with you at seven hundred hours, Recovery One,” FILSS said when he entered his access code to the training room door. 

Wash curled his nose at that and looked do the door that remained steadfast. He entered his code again.

“I am afraid that given the time restraints of your prior engagement, access to the training room would not be advisable,” FILSS pressed in that same, sweet but firm tone. “You have thirty minutes until meeting with the Counselor of Project Freelancer in the observatory--”

“It’s not really much of a prior engagement if I just found out about it thirty minutes prior,” Wash responded. “My _prior_ engagement was to the training room--”

“Rescheduling your appointment with the Counselor is beyond my capacity to assist, however I am able to reschedule your training schedules to deal with any scheduling conflicts,” she said simply.

“I could always go back to my quarters and wait until that meeting is over,” Wash fired back. 

“That would be inadvisable.”

Washington let out a groan, resting his head against the training room door in aggravation. 

“You now have twenty-five minutes until your meeting--”

“Okay, fine, FILSS,” Wash sighed. “I’m on my way.”

How fair it was or wasn’t that the Counselor could miss their appointments and then randomly insert himself into Wash’s schedule as he pleased didn’t bear repeating in the grand scheme of it all. 

*

The observation room was dark, the first clue Wash had that he wasn’t exactly walking in on a very personal session with Project Freelancer’s illustrious Counselor. 

His eyes instinctively darted toward the monitor projected on the adjacent wall and its ever ominous blue glow. His eyes narrowed slightly and he continued to step through the door. 

FILSS had said he wasn’t scheduled for a meeting for another twenty minutes, and unsurprisingly the Counselor seemed punctual when it meant wasting his own time and not Wash’s, which gave the Freelancer the time he needed to check out the room. 

He had been in it a few times before, almost always in the company of the physical Counselor himself, which gave him far less opportunity to take in the full contours. 

As he had figured out on his own a while back, the one way glass was just like that used on the Mother of Invention, its frequency determined based on the controls from within the room itself. And, just like Wash had assumed during all his training sessions beforehand, the windows were perfectly angled to look down at the training room where Wash spent the vast majority of his time in Command. 

He took a breath, looking over the area, trying to imagine who it could have been all those times he felt he was being watched. Wondering how often it was the Counselor, or how many times it was _someone else.  
_

The rest of the room looked almost like a board room -- a long table at center, several chairs, little to distract by way of the decor. Once more it looked very much like the Freelancer’s cruiser, though Wash couldn’t say for certain how much of that was by design or how much it was based on common UNSC property and equipment. 

He was running out of notes to take when the light flickered colors and Wash knew to turn and face the Counselor’s shadowy face through the vid screen. 

“Greetings once more, Agent Washington,” the Counselor said. “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter,” Wash reminded him. 

“I suppose you did not,” the Counselor admitted. “Still, I find it is best to let you know that your time and effort is appreciated.”

Narrowing his eyes, Wash crossed his arms. “Noted.”

The Counselor took one of his grueling pauses. Wash likened it to old films where the therapists would stretch back in their chairs, flippantly comment throughout their patients’ recountings of their days. 

But the Counselor wasn’t a therapist. Wash wasn’t a patient. No matter what the Counselor liked to believe himself to be, Wash knew they were a commander and a field agent, and no matter how flowery the Counselor wanted to be with it all, he wanted answers. He wanted reports and results. 

For whatever reason, he thought the best way to get those things was to field Wash as if Wash needed a friend. 

“My apologies for canceling our last meeting,” the Counselor continued softly. “There were... concerns that arose and required my attention off site. As you can see.”

“I assumed as much,” Wash returned. “To be honest, I feel comfortable sparing myself of these _sessions_ from time to time, Counselor. I don’t know how much they’re working for either of us.”

“I find that they work rather well for both of us,” the Counselor returned, head tilting noticeably even in the darkness of the video feed. 

Wash frowned, wondering if Freelancer was capable of paying for proper lighting at their other locations or not, before he rubbed at his face and sighed. “Do you need me to accept your apology before we end this session with _marked improvement_ on my records?” 

“Only if you are truly ready to accept my apologies, Agent Washington,” the Counselor said smoothly. “Don’t feel pressured to otherwise. You have every right to be angry with me.”

To that, Wash couldn’t help but flicker his eyes toward the Counselor. He searched any sign from the man that those statements, those _words_ carried any of the significant meaning that Wash felt they should. 

Because the Counselor _was_ right. Wash _did_ have every right to be angry with them. 

But there was no revelation from the Counselor, and instead Wash sighed and looked back around the room. 

“I filed my reports on the simulation trooper bases,” Wash said almost mechanically. 

“I brushed up on them already, thank you, Washington,” the Counselor responded. “It’s quite illuminating that you believe a former Freelancer was responsible for the attack.”

Wash scowled. “If it really _was_ ‘illuminating’ then you wouldn’t have sent me out there, you would have just sent the Recovery officers,” Wash said clearly back. “I’m supposed to gather intelligence on threats to the program’s equipment, acquisition anything missing back, and return anything that has been stolen or lost in the field. And I’m not sure how I’m supposed to be expected to do _any_ of that if the program’s not upfront with e about what it already knows, or trusts me enough to gain access to that information to begin with.”

“You feel limited by the parameters of the program?” the Counselor asked.

“I think there are things you know about the other Freelancers that you’re not sharing with me,” Wash fired back. “And I think that lack of communication is going to put me even more at risk than being your program’s walking target already is.” He scowled at the man. “I tried to access several records after I returned from your last mission, Counselor. I don’t have clearance for half of them, including your profiles on Agents Maine and Texas--”

“We find it best to build relationship with you as a Recovery Agent through a series of trust exercises, Agent Washington,” the Counselor cut him off, a rather notable choice. “Trust is something earned.”

“If anyone has cause to make the other _earn_ trust, Counselor, I’m afraid it’s not _me_ earning the program’s trust,” Wash responded darkly. 

“You feel the program owes you?”

“I _know_ it does,” Wash snapped. “And you’re not on your way toward repaying it any time soon at this rate.”

The Counselor paused, seeming to absorb the conversation, before leaning back further into the shadows. “Your aggressiveness on this subject is quite revealing, Agent Washington. Perhaps we should discuss in further detail what it is you believe the program has done against you--”

“I don’t care about that right now,” Wash returned. “I just want to be able to do this job -- the job _you_ gave me -- properly, and without getting killed due to lack of intel rather than because something unpreventable. I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”

“And would you say that this would enhance your experience? Perhaps provide you some peace with Freelancer and Recovery?”

He stared at the Counselor for a long time, trying to see how much he could test the waters. 

Eventually, he said, “It wouldn’t hurt.”

“I will see what I can do about your level of clearance, Agent Washington,” the Counselor said at last. “Is there anything else you would like to discuss in regards to the program--”

“Can’t say that there is,” Wash said. “Is that all?”

“For now, Agent Washington. Only for now.”

* * *

Wyoming was an absolute bastard, but Tex gave credit where credit was due and it seemed to all appearances that the former Freelancer was good on his word. She had checked multiple times throughout the canyon and around its immediate area for signs of him and continued to find nothing. 

_He lies_ Omega screamed at her. 

“You’ve been all too happy to be active lately,” she growled in turn. “I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re going to get out of me lately, but forget it. It’s not happening, cockbite.”

She could almost imagine him coiling back in her head, like a nesting dragon. It made her want to punch something. 

Again, though, what didn’t. 

“Omega, why don’t you do something relatively useful and give me a read out of the canyon again before I head to bed,” she snapped finally, stepping toward the edge of her preferred overlook. 

He grew quiet for a moment before hissing in her skull, _three organics, one inorganic -- six point four-eight kilometers due west._

“Red Base normal, fine,” she muttered to herself. 

_One organic, one inorganic -- one point two-eight kilometers below.  
_

Tex scowled, glaring down at Blue Base. “Give me that count again.”

_One organic, one inorganic._

“Is there another organic anywhere in this canyon?”

_Negative._

Tex growled, immediately leaping down to the next ledge on her way down to the canyon below. “Fucking Flowers. Goddamn him, he makes everything so difficult--”

She went silent, ignoring how pleased Omega seemed to be with her reaction and instead focusing on putting up her cloak as she neared the base in a rush. Once she had visual of the Blue Team captain, she could end the whole charade and go back to her usual watch. 

At least, that had been the plan until she saw the cobalt blue trooper burst out of the room right in front of her, nearly knocking into her in her cloak. She held stock still as Church whisked by her and ran toward the commons where Tucker was still standing in sluggish form.

“Ho-lee fuck, dude! Tucker! Captain Flowers is dead--”

Tex felt a cold chill cross her body. 

“What do you mean he’s dead? He was fine yesterday!” Tucker snapped back. “No, dude, he’s just sleeping in. Everyone deserves a sleep-in day. I’m about to go back to bed and have mine.”

“Do you honestly think I can’t tell the difference between dead and asleep!? He’s goddamn dead!”

“Don’t get hysterical. God. Okay. So Flowers is dead. How?”

“I, don’t know -- a heart attack. I _told_ you yesterday that I was worried about him having one! He said he couldn’t lift up his left arm and it hurt. Classic signs of a heart attack, nobody listened to me,” Church yelled, throwing up his arms. “Fuck! Our captain’s dead and we have an enemy that outnumbers us two to one--”

“No they don’t, there’s two of us,” Tucker snapped.

“Yes they do -- there’s four of them and two of us.”

“That would make it ‘they outnumber us four to two.’“

“They’re the same thing!”

“No they’re not, dipshit! Those are completely different numbers!”

“Go back to school, Tucker!”

“No _you!”_

They stared at each other for a few minutes before Church hung his head and released a long groan. He looked back up. “ _Anyway_ , we have to figure out what the fuck we’re going to do now that we have no commanding officer, a tank on the way, and some fucking rookie.”

Tucker seemed to sit on the thought for a moment before looking up.

“Shotgun.”

Church visibly flinched. “What? Shotgun? What are you ‘shotgunning’?”

“Flowers’ armor. I want it. We’re about the same size.”

“Dude, our Captain just died,” Church replied before hesitantly rubbing at his neck. “I... guess you’ve been here longer than me, though. If you’re really going to take over--”

“What? I’m not taking over! Fuck that, being in charge sounds like a lot of work,” Tucker said with a shake of his head. 

“Like what!?”

“Everything you just said -- there’s a war, a tank on the way, a rookie to train. Fuck that, dude!”

Church’s head would have been parallel with the ground if he turned it any more. “Then what the hell do you want with his armor, Tucker?”

“It’s not standard? _And_ it looks way roomier in the breast plate than mine. I’ve gotta keep that from chaffing.”

Having heard more than enough, Tex began to crawl her way toward the quarters that Flowers had occupied, determined to get to the bottom of whatever had just happened. 

His still form was on the ground -- it had been sudden, and not while he was asleep. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she crawled closer. 

Flowers’ body was stiff so there was no doubts about his death, but just for inspection she pulled off his helmet and looked at his face. She stopped, really taking in his features and realizing, even in all her time in Freelancer, she had never truly seen most of her fellow operatives beneath their armors. 

A red lump caught her attention right at the base of his chin, leading to Tex pulling down on the neck lining of his undersuit. The red lumps continued, coalescing across his neck, chest, and what she could see of his shoulders. 

“What the fuck is this,” she muttered before looking back at the blueness of Flowers’ face. “He... had an allergic reaction to something. But... what--”

Her eyes darted toward the bedside table where a small, unlabeled container stood. 

When she reached for it, opened it, she saw about half a bottle of white pills. Most of them had the label _BAYER_ printed on them.

“You were allergic to _aspirin!?”_ she decried looking back at the corpse. “That is the worst death of a super spy I have ever heard. Why would you even take any of these -- unlabeled -- if you had an allergy--” stopping in her tracks, Tex recalled that one of the supposed benefits of the drug was to prevent _heart attacks._

She looked toward the door as she could hear Tucker and Church arguing again. She palmed her forehead and groaned. 

“Goddammit, Church,” she sighed. “Now what the fuck are you going to do?”

* * *

Getting back into training was a genuine comfort. Wash wrapped his fists and took to hand to hand simulations, then he moved back to his preferred regiment. 

All the while, Wash couldn’t help but continue to look back toward the observation room, giving it a careful study. He didn’t like having his suspicions about its possible uses confirmed. 

And he _really_ didn’t like the feeling of being watched. 

“Hmm,” he hummed to himself as another shooting round ended and his gaze turned upward. “Is it paranoia if you’re right...”

“Come again, Recovery One?” FILSS called over the intercom.

Wash put his hands on his hips and looked up toward her security feed. “FILSS, does the observation room have reservations at any time today?” 

“I do not have any noted reservations among my notifications,” she returned. “Would you like to schedule--”

“No, just wondering,” he replied. “Is there any way to turn the one-way glass off? Keep it visible through both sides?”

“Regulations for this facility mandate that unless directed otherwise, the normal status for the observation room’s windows is to be viewable from _one_ side of the glass only.”

He grunted. “I don’t like that.”

“Would you like to press a formal complaint with Command?”

“No, that’s alright, I’ll live with it,” he replied, heading toward the door. “I’m done for the day, FILSS. Is there any other surprise meeting I should find out about soon?”

“Nothing that has been logged into my channels, Recovery One,” she said simply. “I do have an update on your clearance status, however.”

Wash hesitated by the door, looking over his shoulder. “Oh?”

“Yes, you have been upgraded and several locked files are now available to you,” FILSS explained. Then, emphatically, “Congratulations on your upgraded status, Recovery One!”

“Thank you, FILSS,” Wash said, walking out to the hall. “Now, let’s put this to good use...”

*

As much as he knew it was probably a bad idea to trust that his so-called private quarters actually resembled anything private, Washington couldn’t help but feel better about entering his room and shutting the door. 

Almost as soon as he entered the door, he made his way to his desk -- a miserable little thing that was probably standard issue in the barracks somewhere else on the colony planet -- and began to pull up every record he could.

“Would you like any assistance, Recovery One?”

“No, thank you, FILSS,” Wash said quickly, pushing her window out as quickly as he could. “I’m just going to do some reading.”

“Very well, I will make sure you are not disturbed,” she responded before closing out. 

Wash’s eyes flickered toward the door and watched as FILSS locked it, a red glow slightly showed beneath the door’s crevice which meant that she was at least making good on her promise. 

If he trusted her _that_ much, Wash had to wonder if he could trust enough to think he could actually access these files without any recording of his actions. 

He looked at the files, took a slow breath, and then pulled up Agent Maine’s profile.

The amount of its contents -- particularly considering not a one of them had been filed by Wash himself -- absolutely stunned him. Wash stared, eyes wide, and then slowly scrolled through the activity. 

There were _months_ worth of logs on the movements and reports involving Maine -- physical description, hypothesis about his medical status, a log of stolen equipment and enhancements thought to be had, and an entire psychoanalysis dedicated to something called _the Meta.  
_

Wash scratched at his head, bewildered. “Where the fuck did all this come from?” he wondered aloud. “Is this what the Counselor has been up to?” His eyes darted over the psychoanalysis -- _that_ certainly read like the Counselor. “But this, the field reports. The Counselor would never be in the field. Neither would _he._ But someone’s gotten a hold of this information, and it was someone who knew what they were doing.”

For a moment, only a moment, Wash wondered if it could have been someone he knew. 

With that thought, he looked to the other profiles available, leaning forward as he looked between them, and wondering just who might have been available and desperate enough to do Project Freelancer any favors. 

Then his eyes fell on those listed with the fallen. And something, deep down, twisted in him as he read the names of old friends. Of CT and Carolina and Florida. He lowered his head and sighed before looking at the other available files and reports. His eyes narrowed. 

The simulation trooper roster was among them. 

Nervously, Wash rubbed at his neck. It felt like a trap. 

But, he supposed, there weren’t many things that _didn’t_ feel like a trap to him anymore.

“Okay, nothing to lose here,” he muttered to himself as he brought up the roster. The moment it pulled up, Wash had to sit back in his chair. His heart was pounding. 

With a hard swallow, he selected for Blue Team assignments, then began to type. 

LAST: CHURCH  
FIRST: LE--

Wash blinked a few times, clicking the ‘O’ once again only to find that the key did nothing. He sighed before erasing all of the first name and conducting a broader search instead. 

“Well, that explains a few things about I-LQ2 now,” Wash muttered to himself before the page loaded. 

There were over fifty results for his search. None of the first names listed. Wash groaned, rubbing at his eyes.

“This is going to be a lot of reading.”

“Recovery One?” 

Nearly jumping out of his chair, Wash turned around, only to still see his room was empty. His eyes darted toward the door, the red glow no longer there. He frowned a bit and looked to the screen. FILSS had brought herself up once more.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You are being hailed for a new assignment,” she explained.

“What’s going on?”

“There has been a sighting of a former Project Freelancer operative with known stolen equipment that we believe is in connection to your previous mission,” FILSS explained. 

“What agent?” Wash pressed, closing out of everything on his screen save for FILSS herself. 

“Agent Wyoming.”

Wash paused, thinking back to a time of leader boards and records -- when three agents dominated to top of the scoreboard. He rubbed at his face. “Well, this could be rather difficult.”

“Indeed.”

* * *

The days following Flowers’ death were riddled with anxiety.

Tex took to the cliff, found what amounted to a good sniper’s nest, and kept post for three days straight, never daring to take her attention away from Blue Base. She kept her radio open, listening to the droning of Church struggling to contact Command, watching in expectation of a Red siege -- waiting for anything, really. 

In the longest parts of the day, she could almost imagine seeing the white glare of Wyoming on the distant cliffs, though it never was.

The man seemed convinced that he had to make good on whatever deal there was between him and Flowers. Ad there also seemed to be something that made him believe that Flowers was still active at Blue Base. 

He wasn’t though. Tex had watched Tucker and Church bury their captain -- in Tucker’s standard issue armor no less. 

By the third day, Tex almost believed she had the situation under control, that she could begin patrolling as she had before rather than maintain constant vigil. 

That was before the Pelican dropped off a new Blue and a nasty looking tank. 

Tex didn’t like the looks of that thing, didn’t like the idea that these sim trooper idiots who had no idea what they were doing would even have access to something as powerful as the Scorpion-class. 

She also didn’t like how talkative the new Blue guy seemed to be.

“So I say to the guy, ‘how’re you gonna get the tank down to the planet?’ And he goes, ‘I’ll just put it on the ship,’ and I go, ‘if you’ve got a ship that can carry a tank, why not just put guns on the ship and use it instead?’“

At long last, Tucker turned just enough to stare directly at the rookie. “Hey, kid.”

The oversized Blue in regulation armor stiffened in attention almost instinctively. “Yeah?”

“You’re ruining the moment. Shut up,” Tucker snapped before turning to admire the tank beside Church again. 

For his part, Church still hadn’t even looked away from the vehicle.

“Oh. O-okay! Ha. You got it... man!” the Blue said awkwardly, shuffling a little more in line with his new teammates, rubbing his hands together nervously. 

But at least he was quiet at last, Tex supposed. 

She turned her attention back on Church, watching as something in him seemed to change, seemed... too familiar -- in ways that he hadn’t the whole time she had been watching Blue Base. 

“You know what?” Church said, voice hinging on a dark note that hadn’t quite been heard in all of the canyon banter. “I could blow up the whole god damn world with this thing.”

Tex stared at him for a moment. It was such an odd, dark thing to say. From nowhere. It felt sinister and hinging on something... too familiar for her comfort. Her body nearly lurched forward and she panicked, looking around her as if the AI would be at all visible. 

Omega’s presence hummed in the back of her mind once again. But he had never leaped from her to Church. 

But Tex knew. She _knew_ he had something to do with that maniacal train of thought.

“What did you _do?”_ she hissed at her AI, only to receive nothing in return. 

“Huh?” the Blue guy said again, looking warily toward Church.

“Pfft. Shut the fuck up, Church,” Tucker snorted. “You could not.”

“It’d take a lot of explosives for one tank to do that,” the Blue pondered out loud. 

“Yeah, Rookie? You shut the fuck up, too,” Tucker snapped. He then put his hands on his hips and whistled at the tank. “You know what? Forget what I said before. We can _definitely_ pick up chicks in this thing. Probably two or three chicks a piece.”

While Church hadn’t moved since his strangely megalomaniacal rant, something about Tucker speaking up seemed to snap him right out of it. He let out a small snort and turned his head toward Tucker. “Oh, man. Listen to you. What’re _you_ gonna do with _two chicks?”  
_

Indignant, Tucker bristled. “Church, women are like Voltron: the more you can hook up, the better it gets.”

“Oh please,” Church and Tex muttered at the same time.

Tex stared at him, feeling something move deep inside her. Being in unison with Church... it didn’t happen often. It hardly happened at all, but it spurred her into remembering a time when it wasn’t uncommon, when it was like being one thing -- a memory of a memory she couldn’t quite attain. 

“What, like you know more than I do about girls,” Tucker pouted. 

Church stopped, apparently considering the statement, before crossing his arms. “Yeah, okay. I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’ve... uh... I’ve actually got a girl back home.”

For a moment, Tex thought of just leaving. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear about whatever fake memories that Church had had implanted as they tore the Alpha into pieces and hid him off. But she was almost too curious for her own good. She sighed and rubbed at her face. “Ah, fuck, this is going to be terrible.

Tucker cocked his head to the side. “Oh, yeah? Girlfriend or wife?”

In almost flustered way, Church shuffled his feet. “No, man. She’s... just my girlfriend, y’know? We were gonna get married, but I got shipped out... ah, you know how it works.”

Tex glared at them for a moment, processed what she had just heard, then punched the rocks beside her hard enough to crack them. “What. The. _Fuck._ That’s the worst-- _He_ got shipped out? Whatever, asshole. If anyone is getting faked shipped out in your dumb fake memories _it had goddamn better be me!”_

Almost sounding engaged in Church’s personal life, Tucker turned more toward him. “Oh! Well... you gonna marry her when you get back?”

Despite herself, Tex leaned in again, looking very directly at Church, trying to read him past distance and armor, trying to imagine what he imagined in the mess of a mind Freelancer had left him.

Unfortunately, she never got to hear the reply.

“Yeah. I’m not gonna get married,” the Blue rookie cut in, sounding dreamy and distant as he spoke and not at all picking up on the tone carried by the others. “My dad always said, ‘why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?’“

Tex stared at him. “The fuck did he just say about me?” she muttered to herself. 

Omega sent waves coursing through her. 

Church immediately stiffened, almost in unison with Omega’s snarling and hissing. He stepped toward the Blue. “Hey, Rookie... did you just call my girlfriend a cow?”

Not at all being helpful, Tucker looked over to Church. “No, I think he called her a slut!”

“If I stay any longer for this, I might actually murder every one of them, just because it tickles my fancy,” Tex growled, turning toward the trail to the top of the canyon. “I’m so... un-fucking-believable. They might just be simulation troopers, but they give _fake war_ a bad name. I can’t stand this.”

With that, she began her climb and started on the first perimeter patrol she had done since Flowers’ death. 

It ended short, after she had heard the screaming and the explosion of a tank. 


	7. Recovery Two II: A Game of Risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> South sees an opportunity open that she could never have imagined and must soon pick her sides.
> 
> Meanwhile, North and Theta's newest location opens them up to an unforeseen enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m actually on fall break during this update and staying at my parents’ house so my apologies for any confusion here with the uploads! : ) 
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, meirelle, and Yin for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

North looked around the room -- it was decent enough size for the makeup of one room, but was bare as hell. There was one box spring mattress on the floor in the far corner and a decrepit fan seeming to turn more on habit than for any functional logic.

He leaned back, really eyeing the place, as Theta appeared over his shoulder.

“We made it!” Theta exclaimed.

“Yes, Theta, but to _where?”_ North asked critically, folding his arms. “This is beyond minimalist, buddy.”

Theta’s head cocked to the side and he shifted to North’s other shoulder. “It’s where Delta said he and York were staying all the time they were here, North. That makes it safe! And it’s close to several places we can go for supplies--”

“I find it hard to believe that York stayed here for more than a few hours,” North said, beginning to walk more toward the room’s center. 

He scowled a bit at all the marking and tell-tale signs that there had been some kind of movement within the loft recently. 

North put his hands on his hips and shook his head. He couldn’t imagine staying in such an inadequate space for so long. 

“Just what the hell is York doing with his life?” he asked mostly to himself.

Still, Theta appeared, shrinking in concern. “I think he’s looking for the others...”

“No, that’s what he tells himself he’s doing,” North explained to Theta tiredly. “Well... maybe he is, to an extent. But... it’s more than that, Theta. York’s hurting and I think he believes grabbing onto something from when he wasn’t is going to transport him to some time when things were better.”

“Oh,” Theta responded, curling his knees into his chest. “Things don’t work that way, do they, North?”

“No, they don’t,” North responded with a sigh. “The stuff we’ve been through... it’s not right. Don’t ever think that it is. But... the only way to move forward is to let the past go. And try to make things better for tomorrow.” 

He shook a finger at Theta as he crossed the room, dropping their supply bag. “Remember that, Theta. It’s a good life lesson.”

“Got it,” Theta saluted. 

The little AI hovered by his partner as North achingly sat down on the box spring mattress and let out a long moan when he laid back into it fully. 

“Are you going to rest, North? You walked a long way.”

“Eventually,” North hummed in return. “But we’re not staying here permanently, so don’t get too comfortable.”

Visibly deflating, Theta let out a groan. “Aw.”

“It’s not a good place, and I need somewhere with height and lots of window access, Theta, you know the drill,” North reminded Theta as he threw an arm over his eyes.

“Not every hideout has to be a sniper’s nest, North,” Theta countered.

“Every sniper’s hideout has to be a sniper’s nest, Theta,” North shot back with a smirk. 

“Oh, touché,” Theta chuckled. 

Silence fell between them again and North achingly threw his feet up onto the bed, stretching out to full length and cursing York’s height when his boots still dangled off the long edge. 

Theta’s projected glow fell across North’s face again and the former Freelancer let out a small sigh. 

“Yes, Theta?” 

“I was thinking,” Theta drawled out, “about how we’re letting the past go and moving forward and stuff?”

“Mmhmm?”

The AI curled more into himself. “But isn’t going after South kind of the opposite? If York is supposed to let go of Carolina and Washington, shouldn’t we let go of South?”

“No,” North said softly back.

“Why not?”

He turned his head, looking carefully at the AI and let out a small smile. “Ah, Theta. It’s different. We’re not doing this because we can’t let go of South.”

Theta turned his head. “Then why are we doing it?”

“We’re doing it because _South_ can’t let go of the past, we’re going to help her do that,” North said, turning his gaze up to the lone, ancient ceiling fan. “We’re doing it so South can let go of her anger.”

“She shouldn’t be angry?” 

“No, she has a right to be mad as hell -- we all do,” North continued. “But she’s been angry for so long at so many people... She’s going to make some dumb decisions because she’s angry.”

Theta hummed. “How do you know that, North?”

“Because I’d do the same thing.”

* * *

The waiting game was not one of South’s specialties. 

Command having a lack of trust in her motivations never seemed to take her too far from their call list because, as she liked to remind them, the _results_ of her missions were what they really had to be concerned about. And those she gave them plenty of. 

At least, that had always been the rationale between them all before. 

After the last mission, South had been treated to petty radio silence from her “friends” at Command.

The normal workings of the relationship were that South had to be sent out, had to recover things, had to be proactive. She wasn’t there for investigation work, she wasn’t there for paper work. She was there to be told where to go, what to get, and make good on it.

And it didn’t take long to figure out why Command would have such an investment in keeping her out of the main infrastructure either -- they had to keep her and Wash separate, after all.

It had been a week since her return from the fragment recovery and South was still staring at wallpaper, though. 

Growling, she leaped off her cot and approached the vid screen of her quarters. FILSS turned on almost automatically at the movement, which was an annoyance to address another day.

“Greetings, Recovery Two--”

“FILSS, what news do they have for me?” South cut the AI short, putting her hands on her hips.

After a moment of checking her records, FILSS let out a small hum. “There are no new assignments for you, Recovery Two.”

“You have to be fucking _kidding_ me!” she snarled, hitting the wall hard enough she could already feel her knuckles bruising. “I was so close...”

“Close to what objective, Recovery Two? My records show that you were completely successful in your latest acquisition of Project Freelancer property--”

Flaring her nostrils as she stared at her reddened knuckles, South shook her head. “I was, FILSS. Don’t worry about it.”

Sighing in frustration, South began to rub at her face, wondering why she even bothered to get up so early, and then dropped her hands to her sides, glaring at the minimalist training equipment kept for her in her quarters. It was _something_ to do.

“How long until the training room’s free, FILSS?” South asked as she walked toward the equipment.

“The training room is currently unoccupied.”

South stopped, looked to her clock. It was a little later in the morning, but nowhere near the time Wash usually called it quits from his bizarre, ritualistic morning routine. She narrowed her eyes.

“For how _long_ is it unoccupied?” she asked darkly.

“For at least the next three days by my calculations,” FILSS responded sweetly. “Would you wish for me to reserve any training hours during that time--”

“No, hold on just a fucking second,” South growled, stomping back toward FILSS’ screen. “Where’s Washington?”

“Out on assignment.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What _kind_ of assignment? He’s just supposed to be going around doing clean up and collecting junk. Filling out our little investigative reports. Last I checked, there wasn’t anything for him to clean up.”

“Recovery One is currently out on a Level Two Recovery assignment,” FILSS explained.

“That’s bullshit!” South snapped, throwing a thumb toward herself. “I handle Level Two’s. That’s the whole point of this fucking system you guys signed me up for. I’m here, sitting on my thumbs, waiting for you fuckers to give me something to do, and you send _him_ on one of my missions?”

Almost without hesitation, the AI answered, “That is correct.”

South let out a roar, grabbing at her hair. “I can’t fucking believe it. He’s actually trying to punish me. Trying to _ground_ me like a goddamn tween. That son of a bitch, who does he think I am?” South dropped her arms, shoulders quivering in anger. 

“I am sorry that you are not pleased with the assignments, Recovery Two,” FILSS said, almost sounding genuine. “Do you wish to file an official complaint to be sent to--”

“Yeah, you know what, why not?” South snarked, throwing her head back. “Dear Counselor: I fucking _see_ you, prick. Sincerely, _this_ asshole.”

FILSS released a low hum before replaying a recording of South’s message exactly. 

“Wait, you were taking me seriously?” South asked, narrowing her eyes at the computer. “I... What the hell, you know what? Send it. I like the way you think, FILSS.”

As FILSS began to complete the task, South grabbed for her armor and started toward the door exiting her personal quarters.

“Are you wanting to reserve the training room, Recovery Two?” FILSS called after her.

“What’s it matter if I do? The only other Recovery Agent is offsite, right?” South reminded the AI. “I’ve got free range, might as well as enjoy doing things _off_ schedules for once.”

With that, she headed out, adjusting her helmet still as she entered the halls and took to a light stroll. 

Training wasn’t a priority in her mind at that time. Part of the fun of the training room was getting FILSS to reserve it knowing that it was locking someone else out. Sometimes she liked to imagine it was her way of letting the former rookie know that something more than he realized was going on with the program. Most of the time she was honest with herself and could acknowledge that it was her way of testing Wash’s waters. 

There had been something off with him from the second she had watched him enter the Recovery Unit. She was certain of it. 

South just wondered if the superiors of Recovery Command were capable of realizing that their true loose cannon on the facilities wasn’t the one wearing orchid armor. 

Without Wash at Command, South’s attention shifted toward the grounds themselves. Whenever she wasn’t alone on the base, wandering the grounds were strictly prohibited in fear of an accidental run-in. 

Given that Command was already radioing her on her stroll, South had to assume they _still_ weren’t exactly fans of her wandering. 

“What?” she snapped as she answered the radio.

“Recovery Two, we need your immediate return to your quarters or other private sanctioned areas,” Command said firmly.

“Why?” South asked.

“Because it’s an order, Recovery Two.”

Rolling her eyes, South stood in the hall unmoving. “Hey, as far as _I_ can tell, you put me on vacation. I don’t have to follow orders when I’m on my off time.”

“Agent South, we have an inspection from the UNSC Oversight Committee and your presence would be an anomaly with the records.”

South snorted. “That sounds like a _personal problem_. Oh, hey. You know what might’ve straightened that out? If _I_ was out in the field and your Recovery Unit poster child was knocking his own head against the walls in the training room. Y’know. The way things _usually_ are.”

“Recovery Two, you _cannot_ be seen.”

“And I won’t be,” South snapped before looking to the rafters. “I’m good at what I do.” She couldn’t help but smirk at the frustrated noises over the radio as she turned her connection off. 

*

Once, back when Freelancer made sense, and even before it when the excellent performance of top marines got them on the battlefield and not stuck in an endless cycle of personal conflicts, South was the expert in stealth. And she was _good_ at it. 

She no longer had her eyes in the sky from her brother, but in some ways that made it easier. 

When she was alone, South had no choice but to be the best. 

She propped herself up in the rafters of the complex, considered setting her trackers, but instead started off toward the heart of Command’s facility. She doubted that whatever inspection this was they were going to show off the more personalized areas of the Recovery operatives. 

From there, it didn’t take long for South to see a group of men in suits sticking out like sore thumbs among the battle armored Freelancer personnel. 

And among them was one of South’s “favorite” people.

She narrowed her eyes at the Counselor, nose curled. “Prick,” she hissed under her breath before she further secured her footing and leaned in.

“As you can see, our facilities are functioning at minimal capacity at the moment,” the Counselor said with a small wave around the area. 

The bald man at the center of the group didn’t seem too pleased, one hand behind his back as the other straightened a scarf. He stepped toward one of the windows looking in toward the labs, scowl setting of ripples on his leathery face. 

“What a looker,” South muttered to herself.

“I suppose I am to take this information to mean that recovery of your loaned equipment is such a low priority at this time that your Director is continuing his experimentation elsewhere.”

South couldn’t help but grit her teeth at mention of the Director. She had assumed as much from the beginning, having not seen any sign of the Director since the actual crash of the Mother of Invention herself. 

“Not at all,” the Counselor responded smoothly. “This unit was designed specifically due to the concern of recovering the UNSC equipment, and it has been very successful at doing so. It is simply that those responsible for its disappearance are a small group themselves. Removing resources from other parts of the program would be unwise in light of that.”

Releasing a huff was all South could do to keep from laughing.

“If so, then how is it that they have continued to elude capture, Counselor?” the man asked pointedly, turning fully to face the Counselor head on. “And how is it that these ‘other forces’ have kept your leader from complying with the most _basic_ of requests from the Oversight Subcommittee?”

“We are used to a certain amount of respect and privacy for our operations,” the Counselor returned stiffly. “The previous Chairman was a good friend of the Director and understood that the sensitivity of our studies required assurances that our methodology and results needed a shroud of silence. So as to avoid leakage to and replication by other parties. Particularly those not under the advisement of the UNSC.”

South watched as the older man dropped his hand from his scarf, giving her full view at last of the pendant on his lapel. 

Her eyes widened. She knew that symbol. 

“Charon Industries,” she muttered to herself. She brought a hand to her chin and teetered forward. “But... if they were Insurrectionists... why would they be inspecting Project Freelancer? Why would they be involved with the UNSC unless...”

Squaring her jaw, South lowered on her haunches, shook her head. 

_Everything_ about the goddamn program was a lie. 

She glared back at the man. “Are _you_ the guy contacting me?”

“I believe that was an accusation, Counselor. I am _surprised_ to hear it from you rather than our more vocal and temperamental friend,” he said with a huff. “Though I suppose when the master is away, the dogs may come off their chains.”

For perhaps the first time since South had joined the program, she saw the Counselor narrow his eyes. 

“Your comments are rather unnecessary,” the Counselor said. “I suppose we should move on to the rest of the facility.”

“We should,” the Chairman returned stiffly.

South watched carefully as they headed toward the labs, waiting before dropping down. She didn’t like the looks of any of this, but she _very_ much didn’t like how things were looking for Project Freelancer.

Rather, she liked how they might go for Freelancer, but not while she was a part of it. 

From her belt, she grabbed the business card from before and a pen.

Looking to make sure things where clear, she huddled in a corner and wrote a message of her own. 

_I’LL CONTACT **YOU.** MEET AT -4.260115,35.175476 BEFORE YOU GO._

Feeling satisfied with herself, South climbed back to her spot and laid in wait the full forty-five minutes it took for the group of men to come back around from the labs and head toward the armory. She smirked as she dropped the card, perfectly hitting the Chairman’s feet.

He paused, at first unnoticed by the progressing group, and knelt down to pick up the card. 

South watched the flicker of recognition in his eyes as he read over the message, then how he looked around before slipping the card into his breast pocket. 

He continued forward, South headed toward the garage. 

* * *

Theta apparently took North’s instructions to heart. They spent the next three days surveying the various hideouts across the city Theta mapped as being best to meet their needs, and the AI seemed more than eager to move forward with their plans. 

“You’re such a go-getter lately,” North chuckled to the AI as he tested out the visuals through his scope from the newest tower. He surveyed in a slow, arching sweep, noting all the visible landmarks and feeling the familiar hum in his mind as Theta marked them down on their map. 

“Just trying to do my best, North,” Theta replied cheerfully. 

“And I, for one, appreciate that,” North smirked, hesitating on a dark ledge across from town. “Mark down that it’s a bit too busy on our seven from this spot. Could be easy for us to miss something from the turn ramp there. Not good given the traffic.”

“Got it!”

North sat back, rubbing at his eyes after what felt like hours of peering through his scope and yawned. His feet kicked up onto the ledge as he rested his gun back on his shoulder. 

“Everything okay, North?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said with a nod. “Tired s’all. I’d say, minus that crowding at the bypass, this is the best spot we’ve found so far, wouldn’t you?”

“I love it.”

“I figured you did,” North chuckled. “What will you name this one?”

“Hmm,” Theta rocked back and forth on his heels. “How about ‘New Nest’?”

“It _does_ have alliteration,” North responded, looking out over the city. He hesitated, a certain glimmer was in the distance. “Theta, are you picking up anything on our trackers?”

“No?” Theta responded. “What’s wrong, North?”

“I’m not sure,” the sniper replied, getting back into position and looking down his scope to the area of the glimmer. “Might’ve just seen something catch the sun wrong...” He scanned the area from top to bottom, but suspiciously saw nothing that would have even been refractive. “There’s just something not adding up here.”

“Wait, North! I’m picking up a frequency. But no motion on our trackers!” Theta exclaimed. 

“Can you hail it without turning on our end?” North asked. 

“Negative,” Theta responded. “But I can trace it!”

North narrowed his eyes. “A signal you can follow but not answer without giving out our location?”

“Sounds bad, huh?” Theta murmured.

“It doesn’t sound like anything I like, but we’ll give it a shot,” North responded, putting his rifle back. “Last time it was York, after all. Let’s just be sure to not to be tracked ourselves. Sound like a plan to you?”

“Kind of,” Theta replied. “I don’t like it that much.”

“Neither do I,” North sighed. “Let’s be quick and keep a good distance.”

“Starting trace now!” Theta exclaimed before disappearing from North’s shoulder.

North released a long sigh and began the climb down from the tower. “And here I thought today would be boring apartment shopping.”

*

If he hadn’t already been suspicious of the entire setup, North would have certainly been put on edge by the lack of activity on location.

He kept them two rooftops away, silently observing, keeping a good radius between them and the signal that Theta was tracing, but it still didn’t seem like quite enough.

North gritted his teeth as they came to a stop and stared straight ahead to the source of the signal. 

“Something wants us over there, and I don’t like it,” he said firmly.

“I’m still not picking up anything on our trackers, North,” Theta said nervously, he appeared in a burst over North’s shoulder. 

“Don’t do that right now, Theta, we need to keep low,” North chided calmly. “It might be something from Freelancer.”

Theta flickered out. “Sorry,” he echoed.

“Don’t worry too much about it for now,” North said, standing up and looking over the area. He shook his head. “Doesn’t look like we have much to go on for now. I say we head back to the _New Nest_ and hold up for a day or two just in case. Don’t want to accidentally spur attention before we’re ready for it--”

“NORTH!” Theta screamed. “Trackers!”

Immediately turning on his heels, North aimed his gun toward the right just in time to see the white blur barreling toward them.

“Goddamn!” he yelled out, taking an immediate shot dead center only for the shot to meet nothing.

The image flickered in place, giving North and Theta a good look at it. The visage made North’s veins run cold.

“Maine?” he said, almost in disbelief before the image disappeared all together. “I don’t understand,” he muttered to himself. “What’s going on?”

“North! Movement further back!” Theta exclaimed.

North’s eyes flickered up and he could see that through the distraction and gunfire, their location had been compromised. He cursed as he saw a large body moving -- faster, more unkempt -- right for them.

“I fucked up, Theta, I’m sorry!” North called out as he shot a warning shot at the figure and then turned heel to keep their distance. “I went with what I saw instead of with your coordinates, buddy. This one’s on me.”

“It’s okay, North! Let’s just run, I don’t like this readout,” Theta almost whimpered. “He’s creepy.”

“Yeah he is,” North concurred just before Theta pulled up the bubble shield. North almost smacked into the projection before he heard the deflection of a bullet from behind him. He let out a breath of relief as he looked to Theta. “Thanks, Theta. But we don’t have the energy to keep this thing up for long--”

“North, it’s him! It’s him -- it’s _Maine!”_ Theta began to cry out in a panic. 

“What?” North asked before facing the attacker in the distance. He swore under his breath and dropped to his knee, steadying his sniper rifle against his shoulder. “Okay, Theta,” he called to the AI over the sound of shots being deflected, “On my mark, you’re going to drop the front paneling to let my shot through. Sync?”

“Sync.”

“Firing,” North alerted before taking his shot.

As usual, Theta performed beautifully, and there was a satisfying crunch as the bullet met its mark, sending Maine reeling back a few feet and stopping him. 

“Drop it now, Theta, we’re leaving!” North called out before racing back the way they came. 

“Doing it!” Theta cried out long after they had already been set in motion. 

“If we cut things off through the next alley, how good are our chances that we can make a clean break?” North asked as he kept straight ahead, not daring to look back and see how much ground they had gained, trusting Theta to keep him alerted. 

“Excellent,” Theta responded. “Do you want numbers?”

“No, I trust you,” North responded, swerving left the moment his feet hit the pavement below. “Scan ahead, give me the best hiding spot you can find.”

There was a hum in the back of his mind as he kept his legs moving. Theta’s exuberance flowed throughout him. “There’s a building on the right ahead. Door unlocked. Two windows. Former shop. Lots of clutter to hide behind.”

“Thatta boy, Theta,” North smirked before rushing straight for it. “We’ve got this.”

“Yeah we do!” 

North easily found the building in question, grabbed the door and nearly pulled the handle off as he rushed inside. It was dark, more than a bit dank, but the clutter was excellent for sliding behind. He backed into a crevice formed by two collapsed shelves, lowered to his stomach, and aimed his rifle toward the two, dusty old windows. 

Then they laid in wait. 

In truth, North almost wasn’t expecting to even see anything, but in only five minutes, a hulking form stalked into view through the windows. 

If the figure itself wasn’t familiar, the bladed weapon in its arms was. 

The sniper tried to convince himself that it meant nothing, that Maine’s pattern after them was a coincidence, but the former Freelancer came to a slow stop just by the door of the shop.

“Fuck,” North breathed, tightening his grip on the trigger of his rifle. 

With a flinch, North began to feel the aching in the back of his head, the rapid progression of waves -- panic, growing terror, and a sense of dread that felt like an inevitability as he stared at Maine. 

“What are you doing?” he whispered to Theta.

_N-North, he wants me. N-North, ‘m s-s-scared.  
_

“Calm down, he can’t see us,” North whispered back. His eyes widened as Maine’s domed helmet turned to face the door head on. “Shit.”

The waves grew faster, stronger -- like a heart beating right against his brainstem. It was beginning to feel like a drill against his skull and North screwed his eyes shut. “Theta.”

Maine began to open the door, North felt his body grow numb. Theta was crying right inside his ears.

In the moment, terrified beyond anything he had felt before, North reached back to his helmet, unhitched the back, and reached for his implants.

 _North!?_ Theta cried out.

“I’m so sorry,” North whispered. He ejected the chip, nearly going cross eyed with the red hot pain that overcame him as a result, and dropped his head. He was shaking -- it had been countless _months_ since Theta was out of his mind, and it felt like he was half empty the moment the AI was gone.

Body shaking, North looked back up, waiting anxiously to watch for Maine’s reaction.

The man stopped, looked around seeming almost lost, then knocked over a decaying stand on his way out. 

North released a long, heralding sigh, resting his head on the ground and letting his eyes slide shut. 

It was Theta. Theta was sending out signals again. 

And that was going to get them killed if they didn’t stop it. 

*

It took a while to orient himself. There was still a hollow buzzing in his head as he checked his perimeters, as he set more motion trackers at all entry points, and even more so as he climbed the tower and reassured himself that everything was clear as far as he was able to see. 

Operating without Theta at that point felt like he couldn’t get his head screwed on straight, and while that worried him to certain degrees -- that dependence was not what he was expecting when he pulled his AI -- he found himself even more worried about the little guy. 

Everything secure, North at last pulled the chip with Theta’s insignia out from his pocket, sat at the center of the room, and coolly took a breath as he inserted Theta’s chip back in.

There was an electrified tingling that spread across his implants, branching out into his nerves, curling around the back of his skull.

There was a dull flicker of light over his shoulder that quickly extinguished.

Theta didn’t come out.

“I’m sorry, Theta,” North said, feeling his guts turn inside and out. “I know how much you’re scared of being alone.”

 _You pulled me,_ Theta whispered in his mind.

“I know,” North admitted, feeling his head hang further. “I know, and I know how much that scares you.”

There was a sniffling. 

“Theta, please,” North cooed softly. “I know you don’t like it, but I had to protect you.”

_You didn’t ask._

“I didn’t have time,” North reiterated clearly. “Theta, did you realize he was tracking us through you?”

“No!” the AI’s voice boomed from the suit. Then, once more inside North’s mind, _No. I’m so so so so so so so so so SOOOOO sorry, North._

“It’s okay... it’s going to be okay,” North muttered, rubbing his face. “We’ve just got to figure this out, right?”

 _Are you going to always pull me?_ Theta asked, almost hysterical.

“No, Theta, I only did that because I had to,” North assured him. “You trust me, don’t you? You know even if I pull you, I won’t leave you alone. I’ll implant you again once the danger’s gone, right?”

Theta didn’t answer. 

North collapsed back on the floor, shaking his head. 

A year -- _more_ than a year’s worth of progress between them almost immediately gone. 

“What did they _do_ to you, Theta?” North sighed. “What did they do to make a fragment of _trust_ not trust anyone?”

Theta cried the entire night. 

* * *

She had expected to be waiting longer. She knew that Command’s facilities were many miles long and deep, so it wouldn’t have been unreasonable to expect her meeting to not even get started until well past twenty hundred hours. 

But a jeep approached her in the never ending sunlight at twenty almost exactly, leading to South leaning forward on the Warthog she had taken for herself. 

“Must’ve been pretty eager,” she decided with a toss of her head. 

South didn’t make any moves to greet the men as they approached her location. Rather she sat back and mused at the sight of a bunch of men in nice suits stepping out of a military standard vehicle. 

The bald Chairman approached her the quickest. She could see the veins bulging from his face. 

“You don’t seem so happy to have the shoe put on the other foot, _Chairman_ ,” South said with a smirk. “Now you know why I didn’t appreciate your little stunt last week so much.”

“You believe I have business with you, young woman?” he demanded haughtily.

“I believe you _need_ me,” she replied quickly. “That _is_ the reason you sent me your little card, isn’t it?” 

He narrowed his eyes. “I can’t be entirely sure what you’re talking about.”

“Playing dumb isn’t becoming of you, Chairman of the UNSC Oversight Subcommittee,” she returned, scowl setting on her face. “And I’m getting a little sick and tired of dealing with liars and cheats. So if you _do_ need me, and believe me, you _need_ me no matter what it is that you need on Project Freelancer, then we need to start this little meeting of ours on more equal grounds.”

He stared at her expectantly but said nothing.

South nodded. “Good. My name is Agent South Dakota. My current code name is Recovery Two.”

“There is only _one_ Recovery Agent listed among the Recovery Unit,” he said.

“And we both know that’s not true,” South said with a point of her finger toward his lapel. “Anything else you want to say, Chairman, before I decide to blow out of here and forget this ever happened?”

Keeping his dark eyes on her, the Chairman reached into his jacket and produced the business card. “Yes, I suppose there is,” he responded carefully. “I am Malcolm Hargrove, currently elected Chairman of the UNSC Oversight Subcommittee. I am also known as the CEO of Charon Industries.”

South huffed. “Then we have some history, don’t we, Chairman?”

“I believe we do,” he responded darkly. “You realize that, should you help me, you will be indicted for quite a number of criminal acts.”

Shaking her head, South snorted. “ _You_ realize that, should I help you, I’ll be expecting a few benefits in return.”

“Such as?”

Turning her head slightly, she looked meaningfully at the Chairman. “I need assurance that my assistance will pardon me of any unknowingly committed criminal acts,” she said firstly. “I’ll need equipment and certain allowances to make sure that my use of equipment on the field and any contact with you cannot be traced by Command.”

“We can see to it,” Hargrove responded stiffly. “Is there anything else?”

“Yeah, there is,” South said, eyes flickering. “I want you to help me find my brother.”


	8. Recovery Zero III: Building Blocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolina's scouting mission takes her to a very unique set of simulation trooper bases that provides her a new clue. 
> 
> York and Delta run into some trouble leading to York taking a page from North's book.
> 
> [No longer on a tri-weekly update schedule, many apologies!]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just looking at my school schedule and how much time it’s going to take me to get out the next two chapters written and edited for Recovery None, I think I’m just going to publish as they are completed rather than the groups of 3 I have been doing. 
> 
> It was a neat experiment for publishing them consistently, and perhaps if I had waited until Christmas or Summer break before publishing it, it would have worked out that I could sustain it, but for now I’m just going to get them out for people to read as they come.
> 
> Thanks for everyone’s patience on the story so far : )   
> Hopefully we can just look at your patience as being rewarded now lol

Clearance for a scouting mission took her almost no time. It almost seemed like FILSS’ memo back to her on the request was automated rather than actually reviewed by her superiors, and Carolina wasn’t certain what to make of that, and so chose to _not_ make anything of it.

Scouting missions were, after all, something they were intent on keeping her busy with. They needed the Meta taken care of, and they needed her out of the way at Command. 

Even without Wash’s presence and South’s constant flaking, there was the concern of dozens of other agents, faculty, and the rapidly increasing number of facility inspections that their resident ghost had to deal with. 

Which had its benefits along with its costs. 

Carolina packed up the last of her supplies as FILSS’ beacon appeared above her in the garage. She slung the bags across the back of her mongoose and looked toward FILSS expectantly.

“All contact is online, Recovery Zero,” FILSS explained cheerfully. “I have already provided your mobile locating device with a number of scouting routes and trails most apt to your objective, complete with a list of points of interest to Project Freelancer.”

“That’s very helpful, FILSS, thank you,” Carolina said, leaning her head back. “Though, if you have Washington out and about and South’s on provision, who are you going to send to recovery any equipment artifacts I find on the way?”

The machine hummed carefully. “I believe there are a number of Recovery officers capable of the task, Recovery Zero.”

“But not with the level of clearance needed to pick up high ticket items, FILSS,” Carolina said pointedly. “The Recovery Unit -- _Freelancer_ \-- has been slow and methodical with its chain of command and _all_ concerning regulations since this thing got started. Why are they taking risks all of the sudden?”

The spinning eye almost seemed to stare a hole into Carolina from the screen. “I am afraid that this hypothetical is beyond my parameters for answering.”

Shaking her head and looking back down to her bags, Carolina strapped them in tighter. “I know it is, FILSS,” she admitted with a sigh. “I’m only filling space.”

“Oh, I see,” FILSS responded kindly. “Would you like for me to begin the link with you and Command so that you may speak more freely?”

Stubbornly, Carolina huffed and smacked down on the lock for her belongings. She glared at FILSS for even making the suggestion. 

It had been _days_ since she spoke to Niner. Were it not for the requirement of radio contact, Carolina was prepared to make it even longer. 

“No, FILSS,” she said sourly. “I’ll talk to Command on my terms in the field. You’re _fine_ company for now.”

“I am so very glad to hear that, Recovery Zero! I enjoy our conversations quite a bit.”

“Yeah,” Carolina growled, more at herself than the helpful AI. “I’m a _real_ charmer.”

“I couldn’t agree more!”

Running a hand through her hair one last time, Carolina released a long sigh. She didn’t enjoy these scouting missions just because she was out of Command -- though that was a _very_ large part of it -- but because it gave her the rare sense of freedom she hadn’t realized she missed so much, that she wasn’t even aware she could have. 

And at least part of that was being able to really _talk_ to someone with overarching concerns about them being in a spot to let her down. 

She wasn’t entirely certain about how she felt taking one of these scouting missions on without Niner’s consistent chatter in her ear. If she had money to bet, she was willing to put it on the bet that Niner was going to be nothing but protocol with her on this one.

Carolina looked to FILSS. “Am I good to leave base, FILSS?” Carolina asked.

“You are fully approved, Recovery Zero! Have a very fortuitous trip!”

“Thanks, FILSS,” Carolina said, swinging her leg over the mongoose and pulling her helmet over her head. “I’ll do what I can.”

With that, she started up and took off.

* * *

Data retrieval wasn’t one of Delta’s designed specialties, but it was something that he remained incredibly well adjusted for. There was something to be said for being made of numbers, sure, but York had spent enough time around North and Theta to see how the same draw and attention to detail required for data retrieval wasn’t as prevalent in the seemingly younger AI that it was in Delta.

There was such a strange impasse between the AI and their capacities as they related to their given personalities. Then how much, even as fragments, the AI still seemed willing to test those boundaries.

They were very human in that way.

Delta could usually knock out a general hack in thirty seconds, forty-five if it was a particularly complex system.

York took a breath, looking to the clock in his HUD readout, and then returned his attention to the port Delta was plugged into.

It had been a full minute this time around.

“What, are you getting out of shape?” York muttered, leaning in on his hand and looking dully at the port. “C’mon, Dee. We don’t have all day.”

“Patience is a virtue, York,” Delta’s robotic twang sounded off from the speakers.

Rolling his eye, York snorted. “Of course it is. How else do you think I have put up with you all this time?”

“Through a system of reliance and trust established from mutual experience.”

“Oh, don’t be a smartass,” York returned. “Are you done?”

Delta flickered across the screen before ejecting his chip manually without any further response.

York glared at the chip poking out from the computer dock and felt his jaw clench. If Delta wasn’t willing to verbally joust and if he was _that_ thorough, York knew that the little AI had nothing in the way of good news from all of his hard work.

“Son of a _bitch,”_ York swore, pulling off his helmet and rubbing at his face.

He reached forward and quickly swiped Delta’s chip before putting it rightfully where it belonged.

The comforting spread of Delta reacclimating to the implants almost took away from the twinge of dissociation and mild aggravation that always came with the motion. But it was _far_ from capable of subtracting for York’s aggravation.

“What’s the _deal_ , Delta?” York demanded. 

“There was no information on any available network,” Delta explained.

“Yeah, I figured. _Why?_ There’s one thing for having no relevant information, sure, but this is the _fifth time_ that we’ve taken a risk like this and they’ve not even _updated_ anything!”

“On these servers,” Delta reminded York.

York scowled as he pulled his helmet back on. “What’re you suggesting? We try _another_ break-in on another location?” he asked critically. “You said it would be too dangerous doing it _this_ time!”

“And it is,” Delta agreed. “And I’m not making a reckless suggestion, York.”

“Okay, explain it to me while I navigate us out of this shithole,” York whispered back as he came to the outlook door and began to listen toward the sounds just outside it.

“I am simply suggesting that something has made Project Freelancer feel less inclined to update their files across the available networks, perhaps to prevent acquisition of that information from other parties,” Delta said.

York slowly opened the door, looked up and down the halls, and then made a break back toward the passages they had came from. “Who? Us?”

“Once more, I believe you are overestimating our importance to Freelancer,” Delta said simply.

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Dee. I’m pretty sure anyone in Freelancer would love to get a hold of you,” York responded only half in jest.

“I was not referring to myself, York, rather that our combination is the least dangerous to the program,” Delta clarified. “Any AI would be an important commodity for recovery regardless of their partner or intentions. That would go without saying.”

York paused, pressing against the wall as he waited to make sure no one came around the corner.

He paused, then glared expectantly at his left shoulder where Delta, in turn, projected to look back at him. “What, so I’m bringing down the price of real estate for you?”

“I did not use that phrase.”

“You’re also not disagreeing, Dee.”

“I believe you are very perceptive to your own value, York.”

York snorted and then looked over his shoulder before taking off toward the exit. “You’re such a low key prick sometimes, Delta. What upgrade gave you the Sass Programming?”

“I believe my choice in company is to blame.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” York huffed as they finally broke out and were met by the unending sunlight once again. It would have been comforting if York hadn’t been so sick of the long days. “So what does Freelancer hiding information from their main networks mean for us?”

“That, knowing Freelancer’s science-based objective seeking as well as their consistency in updates and information gathering, we would be safe in assuming that they are maintaining that level of record keeping, but that satellite locations are not receiving such updates for security reasons,” Delta explained.

“So we should break into a more central location?”

“No, that would be unwise.”

York stroked his chin thoughtfully as they reached the awaiting gungoose.

“Hmm...”

“ _No,_ York,” Delta said firmly.

“Oh, alright, fine,” York grunted. “We’ll start back at the drawing board.”

If an artificial intelligence unit could sigh with relief, York was pretty sure that would have been exactly what Delta did.

* * *

On her own, Carolina was always capable of covering a lot of land. It helped that the constant sunlight was only a benefit to solar powered vehicles, and that her tracing of the Meta’s last known locations were, for the most part, on flat terrain.

That, in itself, was not the Meta’s usual style.

He was also sticking closer to the densely populated areas, sightings becoming frequently more and more urban. While he always required bases and active power sources for equipment and maintenance, the Meta also stayed far from possibly being entrapped.

After hours and hours, Carolina sat back on her mongoose, finally giving herself a physical rest, and stared at the markup of her map. The sightings were frequent and clustered. That narrowed things in one respect, not so much in others. 

Aggravated with the inconsistencies, Carolina reached for her helmet’s com-link and waited. 

“This is Command. Come in, Recovery Zero.”

“I’m here,” she sounded off.

“Copy that,” Niner’s voiced with no life or investment. “You’re secure. Go ahead.”

Narrowing her eyes for a moment, Carolina wondered if she should continue to test Niner, but decided against it. They were both trying to get their objectives done, after all. 

No matter what was going on, they could respect at least that much about each other.

“I’m trying to figure out what the Meta could possibly be wanting out of this change in patterns,” Carolina explained directly. “Would there be any _additional_ reports along these locations that would possibly be of interest to the Meta?”

“I am checking our records...” Niner hummed as she audibly clicked away at her control board. “You believe the Meta is hunting after something?”

“Could be,” Carolina shrugged, sitting back a bit. 

“Well, you _are_ our expert at hunting,” Niner remarked.

Carolina narrowed her eyes and tried to ignore her grin all the same. It was at least _something_ to work with, and she wasn’t the one to start it. “Is that commentary strictly necessary, Command?”

“No, it’s not,” Niner snapped back, but gave nothing more. “There are some petty thefts in the area and... possibly some sort of hack job done at an outpost  fifty miles east of you. If you’re retiring for the next few hours, you could probably hit the nearest sim base for surveillance  on your way to check it out.”

Crossing her arms, Carolina glared. “And why would I want to do any surveillance, Niner?”

“Because one of their bases was the last to have visual on ‘something odd.’ And because I _said_ to, Recovery Zero. Are we clear?”

All amusement from their tiff gone, Carolina narrowed her eyes and reached up to shut off the com. “ _Crystal.”_

It took restraint that she wasn’t genetically predisposed for to not pick up all of her belongings and chuck them off the mongoose. 

Still, before she even began to set up camp for the night, Carolina reached for a notepad and pen before scrawling down immediately all of York’s coordinates that she remembered. 

She looked to the map, then back to the pad, tapping the pen against her thigh. 

“Fifty miles east... he might have a vehicle,” she muttered. “And if that’s the case...” Her mouth pressed to a flat line as she looked to Maine’s ever present file among her computer documents. “If that’s the case, you might be some unwitting bait.”

Carolina wondered if York had _any_ idea. 

* * *

_York, the speed limit on this road is ninety kilometers per hour and you are--_

Sniffing slightly, York turned his head just enough to check the speedometer of the gungoose. He was completely unfazed by the readout and looked back to the road.

“Forty-five over?” he asked seriously. “I’ve gone _much_ faster, Dee. What’re you going on about now--”

As if his life was an unending complication, he could hear the sirens coming in behind him before seeing the glow of lights. He closed his eyes and swore a few times under his breath before looking toward the mirror.

“What are the odds of outrunning them?” he asked.

 _Poor,_ Delta responded.

“Wow, you’re not even going to offer the numbers. That’s not good,” York responded before beginning to slow the gungoose. “You know they can run the numbers and find out we stole your best friend here if I _do_ pull over.”

 _Our odds are fairly poor either way we go, York,_ Delta said clearly. _I believe they have a rocket launcher if you_ are _considering outrunning them._

“Ah,” York responded as the siren grew only louder with the approaching officer. “Well, that explains your eagerness to _not_ go with that option, at least.”

As he pulled over, York quickly looked over the officers’ vehicle. Recovery, just like he expected. Which, unfortunately, meant bad news. “Go quiet, Dee, they might have scanners.”

_Taking the Healing Unit offline would be unwise considering your track record._

_“I’m talking about you!”_ York hissed, feeling the AI already shifting out of his neural implants. He shook his head. “He has so much lip recently.” 

Taking a deep breath, York eased up, laying in wait on his seat as the gray clad officers approached him.

“Hello, officer,” York said smoothly, counting how much time it would take for him to reach for his firearm the moment things went pair shaped. “Is there a problem?”

“Yeah, asshole, you were going _one hundred thirty-five_ on a ninety,” the sprier officer hissed. “I was hoping you wouldn’t pull over.

“I have no intention of getting in trouble with the long arm of the law, Sirs,” York said, raising his hands cheekily. “I was under the impression that highway speed limits weren’t adhered to in a war zone.”

“There aren’t any battle simulations in this region,” the nearest officer said darkly, hand already on his gun holster. 

York let out an exaggerated gasp. “ _Simulations?_ I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he feigned, keeping his eye on the officer’s hand. “I’m talking about real war -- the whole planet is divided between the sides, after all.”

“You want us to believe you’re a _sim trooper?”_ the tiny officer snorted.

“I want you to believe I’m a real soldier in the Red Army,” York said. “Because I am.”

The officers grinned in unison.

“Did you say Red?”

York looked to his golden armor then back to them. “Uh... yeah. I did?” Immediately two guns were drawn on him and York raised his hands up, fanning them down. “Whoa, guys. Settle, settle. Explain what’s got your underoos twisted.”

“Dumbass,” the first officer chuckled.

“Yellow’s assigned to Blue Team!”

“What? That’s bullshit,” York declared. “This stupid Sim Trooper program doesn’t make any sense.”

“Also your gungoose is reported stolen, asshole,” the officer growled. 

“Fucking knew it,” York sighed. “Well, I guess I have no choice but to go in quietly, officers. You’ve got me.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, York ducked and lunged forward, headbutting the nearest officer’s stomach before kicking the second officer’s hand, sending the gun flying.

Raising to his feet, York saw the first officer attempting to aim his weapon. Smirking, he pivoted forward and threw his elbow into the exposed area of the officer’s throat between his chin and the breastplate of his armor. As the man choked, York kicked the man down then turned his attention to the second officer.

Ducking under a wild swing, York looked to the officer’s opened side and jabbed at the man’s ribs, sending him flying to the ground.

“Whoo,” York called, standing back up and putting his hands on his hips as he watched the unconscious men writing on the pavement. “Okay, Delta, you can come back. Also: you were right. This was much better than being shot with a rocket launcher.”

He felt his face twitch slightly at the tingle of Delta replanting. Then he felt the AI sigh before projecting to York’s left soldier.

“You let it go rather long, York,” Delta said simply. 

“I guess my mother didn’t tell me to stop playing with my food enough,” York replied with a shrug as he moved back to his gungoose. “Let’s stay off the main road for a while, yeah? Draft up a route and--”

“York, are you certain you are done here?” Delta asked critically, his head bobbing robotically toward the officers. 

“What do you mean?” York asked curiously.

“These seem to be officers of the Recovery program of Project Freelancer. The same program that has been adamant on recording all ill gained equipment and programs of Project Freelancer. The same program we have been wisely avoiding in fear of being tracked more efficiently by someone looking for us considering our fugitive status.”

York leaned forward, elbows pressed into the steering handles of the gungoose.  He looked seriously toward the AI before setting his frown. 

“What, you want me to shoot them?”

“It’s a logical way to prevent interference in the future,” Delta confirmed.

“Yikes, Dee, that’s harsh,” York said with a shake of his head. “There’s more to these kinds of decisions than hard logic, y’know?” 

“Then... you are opposed to this line of thought?” Delta turned his head slightly.

“Not exactly, it’s just... Look, Delta, it’s not just that. And in _this_ particular scenario,” York said with a nod toward the officers, “has long term plan potential that I think we should take advantage of.”

Delta paused, which was in itself a rarity for the AI, and seemed to be searching for the possibilities. “I’m afraid that I do not foresee these favorable outcomes, York. Every indication is that their survival would mean an official report made about their interaction with us.

York smirked, nodding at Delta. “That’s right.”

“You... wish for the Recovery Unit to be aware of our movements?” Delta asked critically.

“Let’s just say that North’s methods might be more inspired than I initially gave him,” York said. “Think about it, Dee -- what’s more tantalizing to a special ops program to send their top agents to than _live bait?”_

The AI seemed to grow silent for a moment before tilting its head back toward York. “Speaking freely?” 

“You always do.”

“I believe this is a _terrible_ plan,” Delta said clearly.

“I appreciate your honesty,” York responded, starting up the gungoose.

“You do not.”

“You’re right, which is why I’m doing it anyway,” York snorted before taking off. 

* * *

When Carolina happened upon the gorge, she thought at first that Niner had mistakingly sent her straight into a war zone. 

Hackles raised immediately by the sounds of shouting and gunfire, Carolina abandoned her vehicle and swiftly began to stick to shadows and cover as she approached. 

Swallowing, she pulled out her sidearm and waited to hear _any_ kind of opening to rush in.

“How soon since the last sighting of the Meta in this sim trooper base?” Carolina demanded over the radio. 

“Recovery Zero, there are no reported sightings of the Meta from this base,” Niner responded. “Only equipment destruction and malfunction. 

“What?” Carolina hissed back “Why am I here?” 

“From the sounds of it, you’re there because there’s _something_ going on,” Command snapped back. “Check it out.”

Growling to herself, Carolina closed in on the cliff side, looking over to the battle ensuing. She was honestly rather surprised to see actual Reds and Blues in action, firing and screaming and engaging in all out battle with one another.

“Were these Sim Troopers given orders to attack on one another?” Carolina asked critically.

“That’s a negative, Recovery Zero,” Niner responded. 

“Well they _are_ , does Command have a position on that?” she pressed. 

“Do not interfere with the social experiment.”

Carolina watched as yet another soldier fell to gunfire. She glared. 

“Surprising results for the social experiment today, Command,” she seethed, “opposing armies given guns and ammo kill each other. I hope these tests are everything you ever hoped for.”

“We must protect this house! AHHHH I’m dead blegh.”

She watched as yet another soldier fell off the high ground he had been on, then rubbed at her face. “God,” she said. “Where am I?” 

“Records show you are at the site _Battle Creek._ The most active of our encampments.”

Before she could even respond, Carolina heard a loud ring across the gorge. She looked toward the opposing bases and realized that they had _both_ been the source of the noise. Her eyes narrowed.

All around the gorge, the opposing armies stopped firing and began to drag or limp their ways back to their color coded sides, chatting among their teammates almost in good spirits and leaving those fallen laying across the gorge.

“Well, those are ten minutes I’ll never see again,” Carolina glowered. “What do you want me to do here, Command?” 

“We believe that there have been multiple points of contact among these soldiers,” Niner explained. “It might give you an idea of where to turn your little hunting mission’s next direction if you can find out just _who_ contacted them and why.”

“You want me to _talk_ to them?” she asked critically.

“They’re sim troopers, Carolina. Sim troopers no one takes seriously. The risk here is low,” she clarified. “Do you have a plan on how to approach, or...”

“An easy enough plan,” Carolina responded, walking toward the Blue Base’s direction. “I _am_ already cyan.”

“We’ll see if that’s enough, I suppose,” Command responded casually. 

*

Being a special agent, Carolina approached every possible threat with its due caution. She could count on one hand the number of situations she would have walked into without a firearm in reach.

But if there _was_ a situation that she would question the need of caution in, it would be approaching the sim troopers’ bases. 

She stood by the Blue Base, glaring at its insignia and wondering where the Freelancer program even came up with this stuff. 

“Kill the Reds! Kill the Reds! Kill the Reds!” she could hear the chanting from inside. 

“What the hell,” she grumbled before heading forward.

Inside, Carolina was met with a swarm of regulation Blue armor, jumping around calling out to each other, shooting at the bullet-riddled ceiling of their base. She stared in confusion. 

Immediately, one soldier standing above the rest glared at her, gun raised. 

“Halt! Who goes there!”

Everyone grew quiet, cocking their weapons as they looked in Carolina’s direction.

She scowled. “Lower your weapons,” she ordered. “I’m.... ugh. I’m from _Blue Command_.”

“A Blue! She’s a Blue! We have not been abandoned by our Command! All hail Blue! All hail Blue!”

“What. The. Hell,” Carolina muttered.

“SILENCE!” the leading Blue shouted, causing all to go quiet simultaneously. He turned his gaze back on Carolina. “How could Blue Command send an operative that is not the truest of Blue colors?”

There was a collective gasp.

“Deceiver! Liar! How dare she! Oh my god! Wait is she a real girl? Quick get her number!”

Carolina narrowed her eyes. 

“Are you second guessing Blue Command?” she asked accusingly. 

“NEVER!” the leader shouted. “It’s only that you seem... rather... un-Blue.”

“Non-Blue!”

“Off-Blue!” another murmured.

“Disgusting,” the leader snarled. “Are you sick? Do you bring further disease to our ranks?”

“I am _cyan!”_ Carolina snapped. “How is that not-- Wait. _Further_ disease? What do you mean?”

“Stop speaking! Your very breathing endangers our Blueness!” a soldier screeched.

Carolina paused for a beat. 

“We’re _all_ wearing _helmets,”_ she reminded them thinly. “With _air filters!”_

“Wicked witch! Trying to spread your plagues of off-blueness!” they howled.

“For fuck’s sake!” she called out before reaching up to her forearm guard and adjusting the settings. 

Everyone gasped as her armor’s color shifted from cyan to regulation blue.

“A healer! A healer has been sent to us from the heavenly gates of Blue Command!” 

Carolina felt her teeth gritting as she narrowed her gaze on the soldiers. “Okay, I’ve had about enough of this.” She pointed toward the most talkative of the Blues. “Are you the captain here?”

“Uh, no, your Blue Madameness,” he responded.

“Well, then shut _the fuck_ up, get me your captain. I have to speak to them about matters involving Blue Command,” she snapped back. 

“But haven’t you heard? Haven’t you _seen_ for yourself if you are truly from Blue Command?” the soldiers screamed. “Our Captain fell to the hands of the White One! We contacted Blue Command and Vic put us on hold. Hold that we remain on to this very day! Fighting the leaderless Reds each day!”

Carolina stared. She couldn’t believe she was actually _getting_ somewhere with them.

“Neither of you have captains anymore?” she asked critically.

“No!”

“And it’s because of this... White One?” Carolina asked.

“He came with a sniper rifle and cleared out the gorge of our leaders!” the Blue continued. “At first we celebrated his skill when he first took out the Red Leading Scum! But then he took out our illustrious Blue Captain, and that was when we all saw, his Whiteness was only a cover for being very very very very very very very very very very light Red!”

All the rest of the army began booing and shouting. “KILL THE RED! KILL THE RED! KILL THE RED!”

“What did it do after that? Did it take something?” Carolina pressed.

“He did! The dastardly Red Blooded Fiend!” 

Carolina blinked. “...It’s _normal_ to have red blood-- nevermind. I don’t care that much. What did the _White One_ take? Equipment? A power supply?”

“No, none of that!” the soldier hissed, as if it was the dumbest question he had ever been asked. “The White One was interested in recruitment! He took several Reds! AND THEN THE BETRAYING UN-BLUES!”

“SECRET REDS!” the soldiers cried out. 

Looking down to her feet, Carolina huffed. “Okay, so that doesn’t sound like the Meta’s motives at all. So now I have to wonder what _Wyoming_ has to do with this all now...”

“But now that you are here, Healer, you may save those seduced by the White One has his fellow awful Red slime!” the leader screamed. “You may use your Powers of Blue to return their armor to its rightful color.”

Carolina blinked a few times before shaking her head. “That’s not... Yeah. Actually, sure, I’ll go do that. Right now,” she said, turning toward the exit.”

“Bless you! Bless the Healer! Kill the Reds!”

The chanting continued until Carolina was completely out of earshot.

She turned and stared at the base.

“Jesus,” she groaned. 

Once a good distance away, Carolina brought up her radio to Command and waited impatiently for Niner to pick back up. 

“Recovery Zero, this is Command. Your channel is clear, go ahead.”

Carolina leaned forward, elbow resting on her knee as she glared over the cliff facing to Battle Creek’s two outposts. “Uh, yeah, Command? I just finished up with some mild _interrogations_ at Battle Creek Blue Outpost. I have _got_ to ask: what. The. _Hell_ was that?”

“Did you receive any relevant intel, Recovery Zero?”

“Only just _barely_ , Command,” Carolina continued, straightening up as she looked for something more adequate to focus her glaring on. “There is definitely something bigger going on with these abandoned Sim Trooper programs, and I’m starting to believe that someone formerly involved with Freelancer is involved, but I have no idea how or what for.”

“Then intelligence retrieval was successful.”

Rubbing at the sides of her helmet, Carolina shook her head with a groan. “ _Intelligence_ is not the word of choice here, Command. _That_ much I can assure you of.”

“These sim troopers are not fully aware of this program or their manipulations within it,” Command reminded her sharply. “Cut them some slack. You know these situations are treated delicately as it is.”

“You have _such_ a bleeding heart recently,” Carolina responded, more snappishly than she first intended it. She hesitated before adding, “I’m getting a little... _concerned_ about you.”

“That is _not_ your place, Recovery Zero,” Niner responded in a sharp tone. “About this former Freelancer you suspect being involved, do you believe it could be the Meta?”

Carolina huffed, crossing her arms. “Well, ‘White One’ is a vague enough description that it could fit. But just from comparing methodologies, I’m leaning more toward someone else. Maybe Wyoming.”

“He’s not been very active all this time, and now all this just recently?”

“I know, that was my thinking, too,” Carolina responded with a sigh. “I just don’t know. I don’t like that so many people from the past are showing up at the same time, Command. I feel like everyone’s onto something that I’m not. That’s _not_ a position I take lightly.”

There was a solid hum from the other end. “It’s certainly not a position I’d be taking _alone_ , to say the least,” Niner responded at last. “Think about what we talked about before, Zero.”

Just the thought of teamwork -- another team -- made Carolina queasy. She didn’t need that. And she _certainly_ didn’t need that unless it was someone she trusted.

At least, someone whose objective she could trust.

“I’ve thought about it a lot, Command,” Carolina responded lowly. 

“Yeah, well, get ready to do more than thinking here soon,” Command said just as the ding of Carolina’s armor alerted her to something being forwarded to her personal computers. 

“What?” she asked, raising a brow.

“Looks like we’ve got _red hot_ activity just in your area. Probably from that hub I was sending you toward, and they’re coming your way. No confirmation on who, but they have an AI.”

Carolina merely smirked. “Guess we’ll find out then, won’t we?”

* * *

He supposed that he should have seen it coming, and he was certain that if he had said as much out loud for Delta then the AI would have certainly pointed out that they _did_ see it coming. 

Which was a good enough percentage of their conversations as it was so York elected to not give him yet _another.  
_

The annoyance of being chased was enough to keep them both occupied either way. 

York glared toward his shoulder just long enough for Delta to project then returned his gaze to the road. 

“The back roads were supposed to be _clear_ of patrol, Dee! I thought this was the whole point of getting off the main road!” 

Delta felt irritated -- like a low buzz of bees in the back of his mind -- but as always seemed nothing but calm in his visage. “ _Decreased_ patrol supervision does not equate to _no_ patrol supervision, York. Particularly if all forces in the area are placed on high alert. And are _looking_ for a specific fugitive.”

“When you say it like that, it almost sounds like you think I’m at fault or something,” York responded, putting a hand on his chest for dramatic effect before continuing to keeping his head down just in time for another ringing of gunshots. “ _Jeeze_ -us.”

“This was anticipated by _your_ plan of action, York,” Delta reminded him.

“Well, not _exactly_ ,” York said back. “For one, I thought we’d be more, y’know, out of the area by the time Sheriff Taylor and Barney Fife were up and at’em again. Who woulda thought they’d already be reporting us in--”

“I did.”

“Besides you, Dee.”

York heard the shot but didn’t process its mark until he felt the jerk of the gungoose trying to break from his control. The sputtering wheel veered him left and York took every ounce of strength to spin back against it just enough to not flip.

He felt Delta’s plans forming in his mind almost immediately and dropped into the motions of fulfilling them. He dropped back, sliding off the seat of the vehicle, pulling his rifle from his back before rolling to the ground. 

The ting of the gunshots meeting the vehicle’s metal frame was near deafening to York’s good ear. 

“Got directions for me, Delta?” York asked, loading the rifle. 

“Of course,” Delta responded with a nod. “In T-minus Fourteen, rise to the left, shoot at three o’clock, and then--”

They both paused as there was a thick thud, a moan, and the ending of gunfire.

York scowled a bit before looking to his AI. “Dee?”

“Recalculating,” Delta responded before disappearing. 

“Fantastic,” York muttered just before Delta appeared. “Already?”

“York, there is a fast approach! Two meters, closing-- One point seven-three meters-- Point eight meters--”

York’s eye widened and he readied his gun before leaping to his feet, whirled toward the approaching body without hesitating to shoot until--

His entire body grew cold. Even Delta’s stream of constant buzzing and thinking and talking ended abruptly -- like York’s body was experiencing a full reboot from head to toe. He stared ahead, completely shocked and just _incapable_ of processing what he was seeing. 

She stopped just short of him, head bobbing to the side as she looked him over. 

The armor was the same -- that blue that York liked to claim was of debatable origin. It was the same visor, the same size and frame. The twist in her hips was different from his near perfect memory of her, but beyond it the bob of her shoulders and the way her posture never seemed at ease was there. 

It was all there. It was all as if she had walked right out of his memories, his desires, and returned.

And it was just his small grasp on rationality -- or perhaps because Delta acted as a constant touchstone to it -- that York even questioned what he was seeing. His gun did not lower, but his head turned just slightly in constant confusion. 

It... _couldn’t_ have been. 

Carolina laughed in that way that denoted nervousness only to those who truly knew her. 

“And here I thought you were going to be happy to see me,” she said.

York dropped his gun. 


	9. Recovery One III: Heretics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash's hunt for Wyoming takes an unexpected turn and gives reason to his growing paranoia.
> 
> Meanwhile, Tex's supervision of the Alpha takes its own turn toward the ridiculous when she has to play a rather intense game of capture the flag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m a little sad at myself for not being able to keep up what (I thought) was a cool idea with the updates, but I’m also really relieved that I’m able to write and update more regularly in comparison for you guys because you’re all awesome and I can’t thank you enough for supporting this story. Thanks so much : ) 
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown @godoflaundrybaskets, @ephemeraltea, Yin, and meirelle for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

The chaos that ensued with the tank was enough to divert all attention away from the scene of the real incident -- the one that Tex gave any fucks about, at least. She waited a bit longer as the remaining Blues took their renegade tank toward Red Base and then she made her way invisibly to the cliff. 

The cobalt armor was broken, dented in and cracked, black streaks across the chest plate and helmet as well as most of the arm pieces. It was a wreck, no way for a human body to survive.

But then, of course, her concerns weren’t with _human_ elements. 

The sparks erupted in small, weakening streams from the cracks, the full mechanized suit was going into power down cycle. 

Tex squatted down, reaching out with one hand to run over the jagged edges, feel around the gadgetry and wires. She huffed.

Her fingers ran over a bit of elastic-like material just beneath the singed kevlar suit beneath the armor. It was warm, a little melted closer to the sparking wires underneath. She supposed it was rubber or some kind of synthetic flesh. 

She slid her eyes closed and stopped for a moment, tried to process what she was seeing. 

For a long time she knew that there was more to their mechanical bodies than the metal frame and wires, the near perfectly molded armors suited for them. But something had kept her from investigating for herself. She had taken great care since she escaped the Mother of Invention to never look at the face beneath her helmet. 

As far as she was concerned, the black armor was her flesh and bones. 

She didn’t need to see whatever the _Director_ had deemed to be worth features for his science fair project. 

But, for a moment, she wondered just how thorough the same man had been for Alpha -- she wondered what he looked like as Church, if the image on his metal bones could match the blurry, indescribable memory she was still trying to decode from her past. 

Her fingers curled around the cobalt helmet. She scowled, waiting for her hands to move on their own, to take the helmet off entirely, but nothing happened. 

Other than Omega’s curling and twisting and unsettling hissing in the back of her mind. The rage and hatred that poured from it had become nearly impossible to ignore the moment she came onto the ledge with Church.

“Shut _up_ ,” she growled at it, flickering her eyes toward the common AI projecting shoulder, though it did little to settle the hissing.

Suddenly, there was an unmistakable sound of decompressing air.

Surprised, Tex looked to Church’s armor just as the lights flickered across it, first on, then off. 

“Omega, scan this armor for any AI,” she demanded, standing up, looking around the canyon.

_Negative._

“Fuck, he jumped,” she growled, kicking the empty vessel. “Son of a bitch, making everything _so damn complicated.”_

The AI in her shared headspace could not have been more pleased with the reaction.

Tex glared out into the canyon, listening to the shouting and canon fire on the Red side. 

“If he’s jumping and knows he’s not dead... damn it, he’d _have_ to know what he is now,” Tex glowered. “Flowers was a real bastard in my book, but he knew he was onto something... about some of us deserving to be able to not remember the past. What was done.”

She sighed, hands firmly on her hips. “I guess if I couldn’t have that anymore... well, fuck, I guess it would have been nice for him. At least for a while. Not that there was much a life to have in this stupid, useless canyon--”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than the familiar sounds of a carrier overhead came through the sky, soon followed by the searing whistle of a drop.

“Oh, fucking, _great!”_ she growled, racing toward the cliff facing to get herself cover.

The canyon was finally getting interesting, but of course it had to be right when she was going to have to begin searching for wherever Church jumped.

* * *

The trip had already worn on into days when Command’s coordinates drastically shifted.

Washington pulled over his mongoose and stared at the newly assigned coordinates for a few moments. It didn’t make any sense -- the destination wasn’t even _remotely_ like the city he had been given before and was, instead, yet another sim trooper base far off in the middle of nowhere. 

“This isn’t right,” he growled to himself before reaching up to his com radio on the side of his helmet. “Command?”

“This is Command. You’re secure, Recovery One, go ahead.”

“Why am I going this way?” he asked very seriously.

“Come again, Recovery One?” she asked.

“The new coordinates you sent to my mongoose,” he clarified. “Why did I get them? And why did it completely reroute me? I was still at least another day from the city and, next thing I know, my GPS is hacked and my directions erased.”

There was a bit of a hum from the other end of the radio, the stroke of a keyboard, and then Command began again. “Your objective is to follow leads regarding former Freelancer Agent Wyoming, correct, Recovery One?”

“So I’ve been told,” he fired back rather haughtily. “But I’ve not gotten anywhere near--”

“We have new, very recent information that makes us confident that you should instead be going to the new coordinates, Recovery One.”

Wash narrowed his eyes. “And where did that information come from? Why is it more worthwhile than the previous lead?”

“Come again?”

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Wash leaned forward again, grip moving to the handles of the mongoose. 

“Command, you’re not adding up,” he informed her. “I don’t like it.”

“You weren’t asked if you like it, Recovery One,” she responded bluntly. “It is believed that Agent Wyoming’s most recent activity was at the newest coordinates. The previous lead is being accredited to another anomaly.”

 _“What_ anomaly?” Wash pressed.

“One that is not your concern, Recovery One.”

In complete aggravation, Wash snapped off the channel, glaring at the GPS. 

“If it’s not mine,” he glowered, “and I’m the only Recovery Agent... then, Command, just _who the fuck’s_ is it?”

The feeling of _trap_ was burning itself into his mind, but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t see what advantage Command would have in getting rid of him just yet. 

He started up the mongoose and hoped the paranoia would pass. 

* * *

The air strike had mostly returned the two color coded sides back to their bases. And if Tex was a betting person, which she in fact

_was,_

she knew that as disoriented as the Alpha AI must have been, he was going to stick to the familiar.

 

That left them with two possible targets instead of seven, which was fine by the former Freelancer’s estimates. Less work. Less mess when she was done. 

In her mind, she could already see it working out for her benefit -- Church wasn’t going to be free of being the Alpha, of everything Freelancer had done, but perhaps with him now on board she could get the fuck off the planet and they could leave Freelancer behind. 

Or at least just the fucking canyon, as a change of scenery was most definitely in order after all the weeks they’d spent twiddling thumbs. 

Setting up at her usual perch over Blue Base, Tex ignored the coiling anger at the back of her mind as she worked on the radio system. Her eyes narrowed a bit, fiddling with the transmitter in hopes of latching onto the difficult signal a projecting AI could give off when she keyed in on something different.

Blinking, Tex realized that the frequency she was tuning in on was none other than the direct line to Command -- the one she hadn’t seen in use since Flowers had killed over.

“What the...” she muttered, looking down just in time to catch the flash of blue armors taking cover by their outpost. Tex stood, realization dawning on her.

“Flowers’ armor.” she said out loud, focusing on Private Tucker. “That fucker’s radio is still active. _Freelancer can trace his radio._ God. _Damn._ It.”

Ordinarily, sim troopers received an output signal from the Virtual Intelligence Computer AI that ran from any Freelancer testing site nearby -- it maintained simulations and defused non-testing situations by emulating either Red or Blue Command. 

VIC was either heralding peace keeper, maintaining stationary orders, or a tyrant antagonizer dependent on what equipment was at the site or, once upon a time, what Freelancer required a bit of a training exercise. 

Flowers’ radio, however, _was real.  
_

 _“Fuck,”_ Tex hissed, dropping back to her knees in front of the radio and desperately trying to think of a solution. 

The radio honed in at last and Tucker’s voice came shrilling through. 

“No! No! _We need men to help us!”_ Tucker called out.

A confused sounding voice droned back, “Roger that... Did you get the tank we sent?”

Almost impulsively, Tex’s head shifted and she looked across to the center of the canyon where the over turned tank was still smoldering. 

Below her Tucker seemed to follow the same sweeping gaze, bringing his hands up to the back of his head. “Uh, yeah. _That_ got blown up, too.”

Beginning to sound even more disinterested, the radio man from Command sighed, “Wow. Sucks to be you.”

Looking only increasingly frustrated, Tucker stomped down his foot, drawing the rookie’s worried gaze to him. “Yeah! We _know!”_

Tex sat back, looking to the radio curiously. If Freelancer had realized that -- somehow -- sim troopers were contacting them rather than official Freelancer personnel, that the worst outcome of the situation was losing more of their simulations -- then their first order of business was most likely to set the area back into static non-engagement. 

In other words, to get both stupid colored flags back to their stupid colored bases. 

“Okay, here’s what we can do,” the radio sounded up again, “the nearest Blue forces can be there in sixteen days, or I--”

Tucker threw up his arms. _“Sixteen days!?_ That’s almost _two weeks!_ “ he cried out, the rookie nodding alongside him.

Tex squinted at the man. “As much as you love numbers, Church, how did you put up with this base?” she muttered to herself. 

_“Or_ I can hire a nearby Freelancer and get them there in a few hours.”

Tex narrowed her eyes, standing up by the receiver. They were talking about launching a response signal, getting the nearest Freelancer personnel there as soon as possible and ending the situation however they saw fit. That meant getting someone to the scene who either could report on the Alpha AI’s status, or someone _else_ with Freelancer equipment being able to clue in that there was activity of interest at Blood Gulch.

“Fuck,” she growled. 

Omega continued hissing. 

“I like that ‘in the hour’ one,” the rookie said looking to Tucker.

“Yeah, me too,” Tucker nodded. “Roger that, Command. We prefer the quicker solution.”

“Morons,” Tex hissed, looking to the device. Her mind was already working on strategies when, in a rare show for him, Omega projected to her shoulder. She glared at him. “Are you going to be able to lock down that signal and say it’s responded to?”

 _Yes,_ the deep, grueling voice responded. _Do you feel angry?_

Narrowing her eyes, Tex huffed. “You know what, Omega? You help me put an end to this fiasco, I’ll let myself be _very_ angry for you. How do you like that?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, the AI jumped to the radio.

Tex shook her head, huffing. “Well, _fuck.”_

There was a screeching whine from the radio before the voice of the man from Command -- though, not _really_ \-- spoke. “Ten-four, Blood Gulch. We will contact Freelancer Tex and have them there post-haste. Command out.”

She snarled. “‘ _Them’_ , Omega? Careful. Tex is _one person show_ , and don’t forget it.”

“Whoever he is, make sure he can fix a tank!” Tucker called out.

* * *

Washington drew up the rosters for both the Red and Blue sim trooper teams located in the river gorge and quickly skimmed for a relevant name from either list only to come up short. He could have just about predicted the outcome before even looking, though. 

It would have been too simple for Command to direct him toward a base with someone from the lists that could be him.

“Looks like you have to just get this over with so you can move on, Wash,” he muttered to himself.

Setting up a cover for the mongoose, Wash looked over the gorge and decided that, if he was going to have to meet with both sides of the encampment, he might as well as start with the nearest base.

He made his way cautiously toward Red Base, scowling a bit at the loud shouting and general disorder of the surrounding area of the base. He hesitated just outside the base entrance and looked at the literal garbage collected around the area, including disbanded, damaged bits of Red armor and one Blue helmet hanging over the door.

“What is this?” Wash asked critically. “Did I walk into _The Lord of the Flies?”_

Shaking his head, he pressed forward, keying in Command’s override code.

Washington was immediately bet by the sounds of hooping, calls of violence, and spray of bullets toward the ceiling of the large commons room.

Blinking, he surveyed the sea of Red.

“KILL THE BLUES! KILL THE BLUES! KILL THE BLUES!!!”

Just out of a sense of self-preservation, Wash reached for his rifle and checked it before moving more forward. It seemed that the situation with the sim troopers was not nearly as controlled as Command liked to keep things.

Just _great._

He took a few steps forward before calling out, “I’m from Red Command--”

Immediately guns trained on him, leading to Wash slowly raising his arms, repeating clearly, “I’m from Red Command. I need to speak with your Captain--”

“Red Command!?” one of the soldiers shouted. “How can you be from Red Command!? You’re not Red! You’re _black!”_

Wash blinked a few times before shaking his head. “Ugh. Okay, _ignoring how that sounds_ , yes. I am from Command. I need to speak with your leader. I have credentials if you want to see them.”

The soldiers looked to each other, a low muttering breaking out between them.

Waiting for the muttering to settle, Wash sighed and looked to his feet, shaking his head at his lot in life when finally one of the more outspoken Reds looked to him suspiciously.

“What kind of these... _credentials_ would prove to us you are who you say you are, Black Stranger?”

“Stop using that,” Wash warned. “And, to begin with, one of my credentials is that I have codes _from_ Command -- _Red_ Command -- which is how I was able to open the door and get in here to begin with. None of you let me in.”

Immediately the Reds huddled together and whispered, nodding. “Right right I didn’t let him in did you let him in no I didn’t hmm yes hmm telling the truth.”

Continuing to realize that the situation was less and less dangerous, Wash lowered his arms and sighed, looking up to the ceiling, wondering _just why_ when the outspoken Red stepped up.

“Alright, Yellow Striped One--”

“Well, that’s _better_ ,” Wash agreed in a low mumble, looking to the Red.

“I believe you have such _codes._ But I am not convinced by your _credentials_ ,” the Red said, a hand on his helmet’s chin. “So, do explain to us -- proving that you know, because we so obviously _do_ know, obviously -- that you know what... _credentials_ mean.”

“Yes yes yes” the other soldiers hummed in return.

Washington stared at them all, his head dropping back to his feet as he let out a low, “Jesus Christ,” and then looked back to the soldier skeptically. “You... _don’t_ know what ‘credential’ means?”

“HA! What? That’s the opposite of what I just said!” the Red cried out before turning to look at his fellow soldiers. “That’s the opposite, right? Isn’t that the opposite of what I said?”

“Opposite! Total opposite!” 

“Right,” Wash replied, lowering his hands and holding his rifle at his hip. “Tell you what, I won’t bother proving what you already know, but I’ll tell your captain all about it. I need to talk to them anyway. Because I have important information from Red Command. So if you could just get your captain, you all can go back to your inane mumbling and destruction of army property.” He curled his nose. “And if nothing else I”ll give your captain some advice on keeping cleanliness levels at military standard.”

“You will tell us that you know what credentials mean!” the soldier howled. “For I am acting as leader of the glorious Red Army at this base!”

Wash turned his attention back to the soldier, gaze hardening. “ _You_ are a captain?”

“Fuck no,” the soldier laughed.

“Then why are you a leader?”

“Because our captain was killed by the glorious White One!” the soldier cried throwing up his hands. 

Rubbing at his face with his free hand, Wash sighed. “You understand why referring to someone you want to shoot as ‘Black One’ and someone you call glorious ‘White One’ sounds wrong, right?” he asked critically. When his call got no reaction he sighed. “In any case, this White One -- you say he killed your captain? How long ago was this?”

“AGES!” a squeakier soldier cried out.

“Yes, truly ages,” the ‘leader’ said nodding. “At least a week’s time.”

“Damn it,” Wash grunted, looking toward the door. “I’m a week behind him. With that kind of head’s start there’s no telling how far he got--”

“Yes, at least three hours away,” the soldier said mournfully. “And I was set to go after him. To follow him. To honor the Red tradition!!! Blood and murder! But he is not due to return for many minutes yet--”

“Return?” Wash asked, turning to face the soldier directly. “You said he was gone for a week. None of your timeline makes sense--”

“The White One? He returns, of course!” the Red leader replied. “He was coming back on the hour.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this!?” Wash demanded. “Alright, everyone stay here -- which direction does he come from?”

“The mountainside,” the soldier said, stepping up alongside Wash. “We’ll meet him together! It is my turn to go after him!”

“We knew you so well! What a great leader,” the remaining Reds sobbed.

Wash glared at him. “You’re _not_ coming with me,” he said firmly. “I don’t need help. You’re just going to get in the way.”

“No,” the soldier said firmly. “I am _following_ the way. With you or not, Yellow Stripes.”

Everything in Wash’s mind was screaming that this was _not_ a particularly good idea, however, as he looked at the eager young soldier, he saw some sort of undeterrable focus in his stride toward the exit. Grunting, Wash reached forward and grabbed the soldier’s shoulder.

“Are you going to do this no matter what I say?” he asked seriously. “Even if I’m not with you?”

“That is literally what I just said,” the Red snarked back.

“I am getting _clarification,”_ Wash snapped. “Yes or no?”

“ _Clarification...”_

 _“_ For godsake, nevermind,” Wash groaned, heading toward the door, gun raised. “Stay two steps behind me to the left. I saw a good area for cover. We’ll set up for a watch. Be quick.”

“You’re not my dad,” the soldier glowered, following all the same.

* * *

When she approached, it was only to clear the air. She had to make sure that the Blues were certain that their transmission was answered and so they wouldn’t send out another. 

It was also to let Omega get a taste of the atmosphere and begin to look for whoever Church had jumped to. 

At first it seemed like it was going to be simple enough. There was an excited buzz in her mind when they were still a few yards out, as if Omega already had something for them, but it wasn’t soon after that the buzzing stopped and Omega went all but silent.

Tex glared. _Jumped again.  
_

“Fuck’s sake, Church,” she ground out. “We’ve still got to make sure these idiots don’t strike up another conversation with Command. And I don’t feel like dealing with the horndog or the space case right now. Omega, I’m going to need you to provide control of my filter. Can you handle that?”

The AI flickered from her shoulder but never fully projected -- he had been less and less inclined to give himself a form since they had left. Which was fine as far as Tex was concerned -- she sure as hell wasn’t going to talk to him more than necessary. And she definitely didn’t need to be able to _see_ something that never left her head to begin with.

There was a click from her helmet radio and Tex knew she was good to go.

Quietly, she approached the two Blue soldiers from behind, raising a brow to the way they were huddled together as if there was something else there, but all scans proved that there wasn’t.

“See. I told you his girlfriend was a whore.”

Tex sneered. Even without context, she made a note to give the Blue either a punch to the dick or a few hits to the head when they were all said and done with the sim trooper games.

She took her time measuring the two up, letting their prattling conversation degrade even further, and came firmly to the decision that just on attention span alone, these soldiers were about the worst she had ever seen -- if for no other reason than the fact that she was able to stand only a few feet back from them for _that_ long without being noticed.

When Tucker shifted, he must have finally caught sight of Tex because he nearly jumped out of his armor and yelped, the Rookie taking up right next to him. 

Complete and total losers. 

“Whoa!” Tucker called out. “Already? I mean. You’re him? You’re Tex?”

“ _Agent_ Tex,” the Rookie corrected.

“Hey, Caboose, shut up,” Tucker hissed.

They stared at each other for a bit, Tucker with his hands on hips and Caboose rubbing idly at his shoulder. When the silence lapsed just a second too long, though, Tucker’s aqua head tilted back to Tex’s direction. 

“Uh,” he muttered, looking confusedly back over Tex. “You... _are_ the Freelancer they sent us, right?”

Tex took a moment, then, filtered, responded in a dark voice, “Yes.”

Tucker and the Rookie looked at each other then back to Tex. Silence hit them once more and Tucker began rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Oh. Okay, good. Good! Glad to, uh, have you, dude,” he stumbled out with. 

“Psst. Psst, Tucker. What about  what Ch--”

Almost immediately, Tucker straightened up and rounded on Caboose, holding a finger up to his mask for dramatic effect as he shushed the private. “Dude, do you want to make the cool dude who kills people for money think we’re crazy?”

“Um. No?” 

“Then shut up! Let me do the talking,” Tucker snapped before turning to face Tex again. “Hey, so... about the thing. The thing we called you in for? Our flag--”

Tex glared at him before looking toward the other end of the canyon. She remembered the damage done to the synthetic body on the cliffs. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t _really_ him the way it might have been if Church was human, but fuck it all, no one was going to wreck Church’s shit unless it was _her.  
_

Omega stirred with a low rumble.

“Take me to your outpost,” she ordered, glaring at Tucker. “Need to see from another angle. _Then_ you can keep talking.”

Tucker almost seemed to shrink at the orders. “Uh. I mean. Uh-huh. Yessir. Right. Not talking ‘til we’re in the base. Got it.”

She rolled her eyes before following Tucker’s lead, making sure to forcefully shove the Rookie’s shoulder out of the way when he followed. 

The moment Tucker was done padding in the code for the base door, Tex moved past him as well, heading straight toward the stairs for the outlook. If either of the Blues took note of how she too easily guided herself through, neither said anything about it. They were too busy tripping over themselves trying to follow. 

Once on top of the base, Tex looked out toward the Red Base on the opposing end of the canyon. 

The transport ships had long dispensed and there seemed to be no activity or signs of a usable vehicle. 

That should have made her job fairly simple. 

The moment Tucker and Caboose were behind her, Tex glared at them, then shoved the Rookie toward one of the pillars. As large as he was, he was easy to push around, probably in more ways than one. 

Once his back collided with the pillar, she pressed her forearm against his chest plate as a warning and growled out “Stay” before stepping back. 

Her gaze drifted to Tucker who immediately stiffened. 

“You. Talk,” she ordered. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He straightened up some, stepping up closer to Tex. “You see, when the Rookie got here with the tank, we were all kinda just standing around. Y’know. Checking things out. No big deal. Church--”

Tex narrowed her eyes and pulled out her sidearm. 

“Uh...” Tucker muttered, his full body going into a flinch at the sound of her gun going off. He jerked toward Caboose, shocked, only to relax upon seeing that his fellow Blue was standing, though shaking. The shot made its smoldering impact just over Caboose’s head. “An-anyway,” he continued as Tex fired another round. “Church, he’s the guy who died when we called you up. He wasn’t dead then, he was just being an asshole then. 

“The Rookie--” Tex loaded up another round then continued targeting around the soldier “--Caboose, the guy you’re going to give a heart attack, said some kind of stupid shit. Church sent him inside to watch the flag. We told him to wait for a general to come by and inspect the flag. It’s dumb stuff for rookies. Initiation stuff. Not that that happened to me when I was a rookie. I was cool out of the gate--”

Tex glared at him as she reloaded. 

“Uh. So a Red came by. We don’t know _how_ he got past us. Because he’d have to and I’m definitely too good to have let someone slip by me, so it must’ve been Church. Rookie was dumb, thought the Red was a general, and gave him our fucking flag. Like a dumbass. I tried to cut them off at the pass using the transporter, which _fucking hurt_ , and then Caboose came with the tank after the Reds came with a jeep with a freaking _gun_ on it, and-- bam. Stuff went to shit _real quick._ Church got shot--” Tucker looked pointedly to the rookie, “--the tank demolished the Red’s car, then an air strike and just... _man._ It was nuts.”

Tex glared, unimpressed.

Tucker rubbed at the back of his helmet again. “That’s basically it, sir. They have five guys over there and a big jeep.”

She huffed under her breath, reloading. “ _And_ your flag,” she added before aiming.

“Right. That, too,” Tucker admitted.

Lowering her gun, Tex reached instead for her belt, grabbing one of the shorter ranged grenades, taking aim, and chucking it instead.

Tucker shuffled uncomfortably during the ensuing explosion. “Uh. Hey, Tex?” he spoke up, a little weakly given what Tex had observed over the past several weeks. “I don’t know what it’s been like at your other bases, but we try not to use other soldiers as target practice here.”

She gave him a look before turning her gaze back to the Rookie.

He was shaking more than an autumn leaf.

“I’m scared,” Caboose squeaked out.

With a shake of her head, she turned from the pillar and Caboose, pulling out her guns, looking them over, checking their ammunition, then sorting them away again with ease and skill. 

Seeing his chance, the Rookie raced to join them away from the dreadful practice target he had become.

Rocking on his heels, Tucker threw back his head some. “ _So_ ,” he whistled out. “You’ve got the Special Forces black armor, I see. Were you in the Special Forces at some point?”

Tex glared at him, took pity for only an iota of a second on the lack of real information the sim troopers had about the UNSC or real armies, and continued her weapons check.

“Yeah, I used to have black armor, too,” he said proudly. “It was black because I got this stuff all over it from th--”

More than a little done with story time, Tex took off, taking a drop right from the ledge and racing back around to the front of the base. 

“Oh. Okay. You gotta go? I’ll see you later!” Tucker called out after her. 

“I don’t think he likes you,” Tex could hear the other Blue say rather loudly. 

“... _thanks,”_ Tucker hissed out. Still, he raced toward the edge, following Tex’s movements. “Where are you going?” he called to her as Caboose joined him at the siding.

Tex stopped, looked over her shoulder, and let Omega growl out, “Red Base. Kill everybody. Get the flag back.”

And with that, she took off, ignoring Caboose’s final call out.

“Oh... Okay!!! We’ll just... stay here... and guard the... trans...porter...”

*

The Reds’ base didn’t seem any more organized or equipped than the Blue one that had been under her watch for weeks. She had never fully concerned herself with the Reds’ activities outside of a few passing observations on her patrols and she stood by the observation that they at least shaped up to be some _semblance_ of a military unit due to having a commanding officer actually committed to the fake war.

Fortunately, the Red’s base not being at all dissimilar to to the Blue’s made her operations all the easier. 

Tex had been brutally honest with Tucker when she told him her goal there. She _did_ aim to kill everyone in the base, and Omega couldn’t have been more pleased at her outrage that any of these fuckers had dared to take part in the attack on the Alpha. On _her_ watch, showing _her_ up. She gritted her teeth as she masked herself in the suit cloak and began her approach.

Angry as she might have been, she knew better than to outright attack a five-man team on her own. She was going to be smart about the destruction of Red Team. Then she was going to get the flag. 

Had to go for the easy pickings first.

With her cloak on, she hid in the shadows, watching the two Reds by the overturned warthog -- the brown one at work, the red -- the C.O. if she was remembering correctly -- standing by. 

The Red pointed a hand toward the carburetor and made a twirly rotation of his wrist. “Try connectin’ that hose to the metal thingy there,” he ordered, causing the other soldier to stop momentarily. “I think that’s what’s makin’ that rattle.”

Silently, the brown armored soldier got up and turned around, standing at full height over the other soldier, and just silently glared, ratchet tapping with a _cling_ against his armored thigh.

Not entirely recoiling, the red still seemed to duck his shoulders a bit and shrug off the glare. “Eh, I think I’ll let you do it,” he decided.

Tex waited for the larger soldier to finally turn back around and lower down to continue his task of fixing the warthog before taking off, running toward the side of the base where the remaining Red soldiers were standing, supposedly in attention, on the roof of the outpost. Not all that dissimilar to Blue Base.

Shen she heard a muttering of, “What the...? What was _that?”_ she made a note to move quicker. 

While not spotted, she didn’t like her enemy seeing anything coming at all.

She flattened against the wall of the compound, just beneath the Red soldiers. If nothing else, they seemed completely unaware of how close she was considering the angle the maroon one had looking out into the valley. 

“Psst. Simmons!” the orange hissed from further back. “What’s going on? What’s over there?”

The maroon one shifted grip on his rifle, gaze still far too long out to see what couldn’t be seen just beneath his footing. “I thought I saw something for a second,” he reported back.

Tex reached slowly and methodically down to her belt, grabbing one of the grenades she hadn’t spent on terrifying the Blues. 

“Hey, Rookie. Tuck the flag some place safe until we can figure out what’s goin’ on,” the orange said, arching back to talk over his shoulder.

Instantly, Tex smirked. They had it. It was _right_ there. Which made things incredibly easy for her for once.

“Good idea! I was sick of carrying this thing anyway,” the so-called Rookie reported back before shuffling toward the drop hole to their base. 

Tex stepped back and kept still, she felt her heart pound slightly more when the two Reds closer to the ledge stiffened up in response. 

“Did you hear that?” the maroon asked.

“Yeah,” the orange whispered back.

“Hey! What’s going on?” 

Knowing she was losing sight of her ultimate target, Tex backed up, arched her arm, pulled the pin, and flung the grenade toward the source of the voices. 

It was far from her most powerful grenade, and its fuse was meant to be a hair too long, but that’s all Tex needed. She needed her enemies to scatter and give her an opening. 

Unfortunately, she found herself once again underestimating the quality of soldiers that found themselves in the hapless backwater canyon of Blood Gulch. As they definitely did _not_ scatter in response to the scene. 

“What the fuck?” 

Tex blinked, increasing her angle to get a better view and finding that the three soldiers were all standing around -- the red one with the plasma grenade stuck to his helmet.

At least in the red’s defense, he seemed _somehow_ clueless to it. “What?”

“What is _that_ thing?” the maroon whirled around.

“What thing?” the rookie asked.

The orange waved his handgun at the rookie .”There’s something on your head.”

“What?” the rookie asked, voice almost squeaking. “Is it a spider? Get it off!”

“No, it’s not a spider,” the maroon observed. “It’s like a... _blue_ thing...”

“What? Like a _blue_ spider? Get it off!”

“It’s not a spider! Calm down,” orange snapped. “It’s some kinda... fuzzy... _pulsating_ thing.”

“That doesn’t sound much better than a spider.”

The maroon’s head cocked to the side. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Maybe we should try to take it off,” the maroon said, rounding himself to look more directly at the orange. 

“Good idea! Go for it,” the other responded in kind.

“Me? By _we_ I meant _you_ , asshole,” he scoffed.

“Well somebody needs to get it off!” the Rookie cried out, close to hysterics. “Look, it might be dangerous--”

No sooner had the words left his mouth did Tex check her countdown on her HUD and watched, in amazement, as the blast blew across the roof of the outpost.

“What the actual fuck,” she muttered.

“SON OF A BITCH!”

Not having much more time to waste, Tex leaped up to the outpost wall and took advantage of the distraction as much as she could. The soldiers were easy -- far easier than trained soldiers could have possibly been in any other branch of the military, that was for sure.

Being closest, the maroon was the simplest to grab, pulling him off the edge, knocking her elbow onto the back of his helmet line just before tossing him off. He never had a chance.

“Sim-- where’d he go?”

She leaped up the rest of the way, landing just before the orange one’s gaze.

He startled back, no doubt being caught off guard by the faint disruption of the translucent armor before she grabbed him by the sides of his head and brought his helmet down to her knee with a crack.

“Ow! Don’t kill me! I’m too good looking to die--”

She rolled her eyes and knocked him into the concrete as quickly as she could. 

With a huff, Tex shook her head and made her way toward the hold. “What is _with_ this canyon?”

Omega was screeching in her mind as she dropped to the floor below, and while his tantrums were usually fairly simple to ignore, she found herself grabbing for her helmet this time around. She shook it off just in time to realize that the screeching had been because they were being surrounded. 

The Red leader’s shotgun in her face, Tex cursed under her breath.

 _You couldn’t have just said your sensors were going off? The screeching was the best option, Omega?_ she snarled at herself.

“Freeze!” the Red snarled.

The brown soldier cocked his weapon behind her. 

“Drop your weapon,” the Red continued to order. 

Narrowing her eyes, Tex tossed her gun to the floor, watching as the Red didn’t even look down to step on it and kick it away from them. His sights were closed in on her. 

“Hey, buddy,” Omega and Tex growled in unison through the amplifier. 

“ _What?”_ the Red seethed back.

“You better hope the first one knocks me out,” she warned him.

The Red looked over her shoulder for a moment toward the brown before lunging forward with practiced ease and sending an elbow straight to her face. 

* * *

Washington surveyed the area quickly. It was a decent area and the terrain was favorable to setting up a trap, but most of the effective routes he could take to do so were going to take more time than the Red soldier seemed to think they had. 

So a simple cross on the path would have to do.

He looked back to the Red who, in turn, was boredly kicking a rock across the dirt of the gorge’s grounds and let a small sigh.

“It’s not the material, Wash, it’s how you use it,” he reminded himself before walking the Red’s way. “Soldier!”

The Red immediately straightened, excitement carrying in his shoulders. “The White One comes baring the glorious flag!? Descending from the mountains on high, is he here to give us the repentance which our unworthy hands still reach for? Is it--”

“No,” Wash said clearly cutting him off. “Firstly, _no_ flags do any of those things you just listed off.”

“Of course they do!” the Red cried out.

“No, they _really_ don’t.”

The Red scoffed. “With such a miserable lack of faith it’s obvious that _you’ve_ never seen a flag! Have never been shown their light.”

“Actually, I’ve seen _plenty_ of flags,” Wash snapped back. “I’ve even saluted a few. The one who sounds like they’ve never seen a flag before here is you.”

The soldier backed up and gasped at the accusation. “How could one even speak such harmful things.”

 _“Harmful?”_ He quickly shook his head and backed off the situation. “Okay, enough. You’re just wasting my time now. Forget the flag for now. We’ll discuss it later, but you and I need to first get organized here. We really don’t have time to mess around. So what I want you to do, since even if you’re seen your presence can blend in with the other troopers, is I want you to post closer to the path that you said Wyoming--”

“The White One?” 

Releasing an aggravated sigh, Wash threw back his head before nodding along. “Yes, alright, _the White One_. You said he comes from the mountainside, so I want you posted there--” Wash pointed directly toward the vegetation just by where the entering road made its bend. “You won’t be able to see him first from that position, so I will have to radio you when I see him coming to get you prepared, but you are going to have the shot in range before me due to my angle. If we work this out together and are a team, we can wound him up front and keep him for questioning.“

When Wash finished up he looked into the soldier’s face and saw... nothing to indicate there was any comprehension of what Wash had set up. 

Aggravated, Wash pointed toward the spot again. “Stay in the shade until I radio you. Then you’re going to shoot on my command. Got it?”

“Yessir!”  they squeaked before racing out toward the cover. 

Wash watched him for a bit before shaking head head and reaching up to his own radio. “Come in, Command.”

“This is Command. The line is secure, go ahead, Recovery One.”

“I’m looking at making contact with a possible former Freelancer. I believe it’s Agent Wyoming. How are you wanting me to handle--”

“Agent Washington, we have our concerns about you approaching Agent Wyoming without backup. Avoid contact until we have--”

Wash scowled. “Wait? Command, my window of opportunity is closing as we speak. Unless you already have people on the way, waiting isn’t going to be an option,” he argued immediately. “But I’m not stupid, I have recruited some assistance from the field.”

“From the field? The _sim troopers_? Recovery One, those are _not_ real soldiers--”

“They have real weapons and, due to your project, Command, have some kills of their own people under their belts,” Wash snapped out. His attention moved back to the watch, where he thought he saw a flicker of light coming off the very hill Wyoming was supposed to trail. “I have to go.”

“Washington--”

He turned off his radio and dropped into position behind a tree, eyes set on the trails ahead, watching as a slowly approaching figure came toward them. 

“Red?” Wash whispered over his radio. “Do you copy?” Wash waited only to receive static from the other end. He narrowed his eyes, attempting again. “Red? I need you to get ready, I’m about to give the signal-- _Red Soldier?”_ The searing static only increased and Wash released an aggravated growl before flipping his radios off all together. “Son of a bitch,” he snarled before reloading his weapon, looking over his shoulder to see Wyoming nearly past his position.

Heart pounding, Wash raced out into the open, gun drawn and aimed for the back of Wyoming’s head as he stopped just behind him.

“Stop! Put your hands where I can see them!” Wash bellowed.

“Oh, my,” Wyoming cooed, stopping but neither dropping his weapon nor putting up his hands. “I was wondering how long you were going to lay in wait out there, ol’ chap.”

“I’m not your ‘chap,’“ Wash snapped. “Put your hands _up_ or I won’t think twice about shooting you.”

The white armored man released a low hum, head turning to his left shoulder slightly. A teal flicker appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye. 

“You’re _certain_ it’s him? He sounds so... serious. Well. Alright, then.”

“Wyoming!” Wash warned one last time before taking a shot for the man’s shoulder blade. 

He waited only a second for the contact, hardly registering that it never happened when he watched Wyoming appear just to the left of where Washington had _just_ seen him standing. His eyes widened, a bit in surprise that not only was Wyoming _not_ where he was supposed to be but was now also facing him. 

“Cheerio,” the man chuckled before taking a shot.

Wash had no time at all, but somehow his reflexes seemed ahead of him. Dropping to the ground, Wash flung his rifle down and pulled out his handgun to aim right back at Wyoming.

“You were right, my friend, my apologies for doubting you,” Wyoming called out. “That is most _certainly_ our own Agent Washington.”

Narrowing his eyes, Wash gripped tighter to his gun, but knew better than to make any sudden moves on the other end of a gun as high powered as Wyoming’s weapons of choice. 

“Tell me, Agent Washington, what do you call someone caught between a gun and a hard place?” Wyoming asked, and Wash could just _imagine_ that prickish smile under his helmet. 

“I’m not a fan of jokes and riddles,” Wash huffed.

“Then I suppose that is why we never got along.”

Washington’s mind raced for a solution when he noticed a flicker of Red behind Wyoming. He smirked, thinking that some foresight and undue trust had finally gone his way for once.

“Red! Now!” he called out, only to feel his face drop as the soldier raced up toward the scene, stopping just a few feet alongside Wyoming. “What are you _doing!?”_

“Freelancer! Here! This is the White One, we found him,” the Red said with the enthusiasm of a dog that had just played fetch.

For his part, Wyoming didn’t seem concerned with the sim trooper at all. Washington was beginning to feel his blood boil. 

“What about our plan!?” he demanded. 

“Pfft,” the Red shrugged. “Stupid plan. It didn’t involve shooting Blues or capturing the flag at all! How ever should I justify following a plan which lacks these simple tenements of the glorious Red Army!?”

Washington stared at him for what felt like a full minute before his shoulders began shaking in aggravation. “ _What does that even mean?”_

“It means you are quite out of luck, mate,” Wyoming chuckled darkly. “You see, you don’t understand working with people how I do. And you don’t understand that people are best worked with when you have something they want. If you did, it would be _I_ on the other side of this disagreement and not you outnumbered and betrayed. You don’t understand it at all, but the people you work for? Who you are here for? They do very much. It is almost sad to see it so clearly now when we look back on it,” Wyoming mused, his AI flickering to life over his shoulder. “We understand it _very_ well.” 

“Fine, Wyoming, then tell me,” Wash ground out. “What do _I_ want that’s so obviously exploited here?”

Wyoming chuckled. “Oh, dear me, you don’t believe you’re obvious, do you? What do _you_ want, Agent Washington? Simple. You want to be free -- you want to leave behind everything this program has so _kindly_ gave you.”

“That so,” Wash said back as calmly as he could, watching intently for Wyoming to pull the first move. “You seem pretty confident in that assessment.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Wyoming asked, surprising Wash by pulling back on his gun, shouldering it. “After all, you don’t _really_ have any problem with me, and you’re _itching_ to bite back on the chain your superiors have on you. I believe the both of us can just walk away from this moment right now without any incident from each other.”

Finger tapping slightly, Wash drew his mouth to a sharp line. “You’re really going to just walk away from me without a second thought?” he asked.

“For old time’s sake,” Wyoming said with a slight shrug. “After all, I’m quite a sentimental man.” The Gamma AI flickered once more.

Slowly, Wash got to his feet, gun still drawn. He stared back at Wyoming for a long moment before holstering his gun, waiting expectantly. 

“I need some answers from you still,” Wash professed. “And I mean _me._ Not anything to do with Freelancer--”

“I’m afraid I can only answer you with riddles, mate. I hear you’re not a fan of those,” Wyoming replied cheekily. “Like, ‘what do you call the third man in a duel?’“

Washington turned his head slightly. “What?”

Before the words had even fully left his mouth, he felt himself spring forward, the impact to his back shocking him far more than the sound of the blast. He let out a pained groan, crumpling to the ground.

Wyoming chuckled above him, stepping over. “That would be _r_ constant. From a truel probability? The least likely man to be shot? It was a math joke, don’t think too hard on it.” He continued walking, the crunching of his boots against the dirt road mixing with the ringing in Washington’s ears. “Come now, Red. You may join your comrades. We have _quite_ the plans ahead of us.”

Unable to keep his head up, world still spinning, Wash let his eyes slide closed, kicking himself for everything.

But he also didn’t forget Wyoming’s words about Command... or how for once they rang so true...

* * *

Getting her thoughts sorted together after the lockdown of her armor was never fun. The safety feature of keeping AI on hold with the lockdown might have been a decent feature for humans wearing suits.

For Tex it was simply a pain in the ass. 

Especially since she could still be subject to the droning of the idiots of the Red Army. 

“Sarge, we need to get Donut air-lifted outta here.”

There was a gruff snarling noise not too far off from Tex while she and Omega worked tirelessly to get back online. “Could you put that in a memo and entitle it _SHIT I ALREADY KNOW!_ Get on the horn with command!”

She could feel the sparks from her armor as the lockdown finally gave way, her eyes opening and the HUD coming back to life before her. She could see as the Red sergeant put his shotgun closer to her face and cocked his head to the side.

“Well, look who’s up. Rise ‘n shine, buttercup.”

Slowly, Tex moved back to her feet, her body convulsing with the sparks flying from her shoulder. She began to snap off only to feel her throat heave, and the draining noise of her radio going offline then recovering without her modifier. 

“Oh, _great!”_ she snarled. “You broke my voice filter, you _cock biting fucks!”  
_

Immediately, at the sound of her real voice, every gun trained on her other than the brown one’s dropped and the soldiers looked to each other. 

“Ah- _HA!”_ the orange one shouted from the back. “I _knew it!_ Only a chick could give me a headache this big!”

Everyone looked back at her, lapsed once more into silence. 

Tex sneered. “What’s the matter? You never seen a girl before? _How long have you guys been out here?”_

Each of the men shifted uncomfortably at the accusation before the sergeant coughed and nodded to Lopez. “Eh, nevermind you that, li’l lady--”

“The _fuck_ you just call me, old man--” 

“Lopez, you and I will have to skedaddle out of here and take care of Donut best we can before the lift gets here -- you _did_ call the lift, didn’t you, Simmons?”

The maroon soldier shuffled closer. “Uh, yessir. Of course, sir! It’s just... um. Who’s going to watch--”

“While Lopez and I take care of Donut, you and Private Grif are to watch over our _guest_ here and make sure she doesn’t even _blink_ without permission. Got it?”

“Make sure she doesn’t blink without taking off her helmet to see, Sarge?” the orange one snarked.

“Not _now_ , Grif! Don’t make me any angrier than I already am today! I’m down a warthog!”

“And a soldier, Sir,” the one named Simmons muttered under his breath. 

“That, too,” Sarge huffed. “Got it, boys?”

“Yeah, you’re leaving us to die,” Grif said, getting his gun out all the same.

“You won’t die, son, she doesn’t have a single weapon on her!” Sarge cried out throwing up his arms. “Great Caeser’s ghost, you two are marines. Shoot first, ask questions later!” He then nodded to the brown soldier. “C’mon, Lopez. We’ve got another soldier to patch up.”

The brown armored soldier didn’t react at first, but slowly took his trained gun off Tex all the same, allowing Simmons and Grif to step up, guns at the ready, and take his spot. He then followed behind the Red leader.

Tex glowered at her new captors, cracking her knuckles at her waist as they nervously looked her over. 

Breaking the ice, the orange one coughed into his fist. “So, uh... you’re a girl, huh?” Grif asked.

Tex glared at him. 

“Just ignore him,” Simmons sighed, gun never lowered, not even to amore comfortable and sustainable position. “That’s what I do.”

A little more bold due to Tex’s silence, Grif cocked his head to the side. “Not so tough now that we unloaded our weapon, are ya?”

Not able to let that one go, Tex squared herself to the orange soldier and straightened herself to full height. “Hey, _punk,_ I don’t need a weapon to _kill_ you.”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. What’re you gonna do? _Punch me?”_

Narrowing her eyes, Tex leaned forward only for Grif to let out a screech and flinch back behind Simmons. 

“AHH! Not in the face!”

Tex leaned back and smirked. It might not have been so bad to get out of there after all. 

Unfortunately for the sake of her fun, the maroon didn’t seem as will to budge. He was still firmly hiding behind his gun aimed right between Tex’s eyes. And while the man was far from intimidating on his own, Tex knew that it didn’t take much to be a killer with a gun.

“Ma’am, I’d like it _way_ better if you’d take a few steps back. Like it or not, you’re still outnumbered here,” the Simmons character warned her, only a slight stammer in his voice compared to the tone Tex had observed when the sergeant was around.

Tex glared at him but ultimately stepped back. She had to be careful. No need for her story to end out of stupidity, after all.

Her motion seemed to bolster the morale of the orange soldier, though, and he soon was in alignment with Simmons again. 

“Yeah, you can’t take us bolth on,” he remarked with far more confidence than he deserved.

Tex hardened her look. “Take you _what_ on?” she asked.

The question even got Simmons to look away from her momentarily in order to scowl at his companion. 

“I said ‘you can’t take us bolth on!’“ Grif snapped back. “Clean your ears.”

“Clean her ears?” Simmons scoffed. “I don’t think this is a problem with _her_ here, Grif. Don’t you know how to say ‘both’?”

The stout soldier glared back at him. “What? Of course I know how to say _bolth._ I _just_ said it.”

“There’s no _L_ in it!” Simmons cried out. “It’s pronounced _both.”_

“That’s what I’m saying!” Grif snapped. “ _Bolth.”_

_“Both.”_

Grif glared at his companion and put his hands on his hips. “You sound like _such_ an ass the way you say it,” he growled.

“GRIF!” 

Immediately, both soldiers looked toward the base’s hold then to each other. There seemed to be a note of aggravation from Grif and understanding from Simmons that neither verbally remarked on. 

“Quit your yammering and get your keister up here! Need some help.”

Tex raised a brow and waited expectantly for things to play out.

Grif walked to the hold and looked up as their sergeant continued. 

Sarge called down, “Got more of them Special Ops fellas headed toward the base.”

 _What_ Tex snarled internally, heart racing. Was it possible that Wyoming was already back? Omega coiled with anger. 

For his part, Grif seemed to go completely stiff. “As in... _more than one?”_ He looked back to Simmons then up to their C.O. “Uh, maybe we should _bolth_ go, Sir.”

Nearly throwing his gun down, Simmons growled out, _“BOTH!”_

“Well, well,” Sarge called scornfully. “Another _brilliant_ idea from the think tank. Why don’t you both come up? Leave the prisoner alone. We could just put her on the honor system -- have her guard herself!”

Grif rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh. Good point, Sir--”

“YOU’RE GODDAMN RIGHT IT IS!” Sarge howled. “Now get your ass up here. We got just enough time for me to spray pain the bullseye on your back... Eh. By bullseye, I of course mean camouflage.” Grif looked back to Simmons expectantly. “Now move it, cupcake!”

“Yeah,” Grif sighed, getting to the ladder. “I’ll be right up.”

Tex watched carefully as the portly soldier climbed up the ladder, then she turned her attention back on the man with the gun at her head. She shook her head. 

If _whoever_ it was from Freelancer was coming to eradicate Red Base first, well, they were just making her job easier she figured. 

“So... he _was_ saying ‘bolth’, right? Like. I’m not crazy,” Simmons spoke up in a hardly more than mumbling voice.

“Yeah, kid?” Tex said, glaring at the soldier.

“Uh. Yes?”

“Don’t talk to me. You’ve not caught me in a good mod,” she snarled. 

“Um. Noted.”

At the very least, unlike the orange one, the maroon soldier seemed more than willing to shut up and leave Tex to her thoughts. He continued to worriedly look toward the doors, waiting for word from his squad, which gave Tex a good idea for how to get herself out of the mess she was in _without_ allowing Omega to lead the way. Something he _desperately_ wanted to do.

With her luck working true to form, however, Tex found that idea quickly evaporating when the Red leader raced into the base and came right for the maroon soldier. 

But _something_ about him was different, and it was putting Omega on edge.

Which was enough to just make Tex’s continuously spiraling mood downright _foul.  
_

The Red slowed to a stop short of his private and did a nonchalant shrug that put Tex and Simmons off almost immediately.

“Hey, man. What’s up. Yo?” the old man growled out in a surprisingly chipper tone.

Tex blinked. She imagined Simmons was doing much the same given the baffled way his neck seemed to stretch back away from his C.O.

“Uh... hey?” Simmons managed to get out. He then looked toward the exit and then back to his sergeant. “What’s going on out there, Sir?”

For some reason, the Red seemed completely taken aback by the usual line of questioning. “What’s? Uh. Why _nothin’._ Why would you ask if somethin’s wrong?” he carried on, his accent crossing almost into lampoon.

“I think that’s a perfectly normal question in a time of war,” Simmons countered, shoulders straightening up in suspicion.

“Yeah, well... I don’t know,” Sarge growled. “You’re starting to act kinda suspicious there... other... Red guy. So imma keep my eye on you.”

Simmons took a good, long look at his commanding officer before letting out a frustrated breath and turning to face Tex, gun at the ready again. “I’m starting to think that--”

Without warning, Sarge flipped his pistol around and whipped Simmons across the back of his head in a heralding swoop. The contact was actually loud enough that Tex considered flinching at it.

“Ow! Geez, the back of my head!” Simmons cried out before crumpling completely to the floor.

When Sarge stopped, standing over the maroon soldier, his face turned almost immediately to Tex. His stature could only be described as melting, shoulders dropping completely, head wavering to the side, completely focused on her.

It was _creepy._

“What the hell are you doing!?” Tex snapped.

“Tex!” the sergeant called out, waving to his chest in a grand gesture. “It’s me! _Church!_ I’ve come to rescue you.”

Taking what substituted for a breath in a synthetic body, Tex leaned back against the wall. She knew he had to have figured it out, that he was hiding from sensors before. She _hadn’t_ expected him to remember her.

Especially after that bullshit story he had been telling the other Blues.

Still, it was worth a little fun. “You’re kind of short to be Church,” she nodded at the Red’s body.

“What? Oh. Yeah. Right. The armor,” he responded, looking over Sarge’s body before allowing it to go limp. 

Tex watched in amazement as he projected before her from the armor -- the white glow healthy, his projection large enough to be a full soldier on his own, the lax stance not breaking in code at every flicker. 

The Alpha almost seemed _whole._

 _Church_ she thought to herself as Omega raged inside, scornful and jealous and hateful as always.

In control of himself once more, the Red officer shook his head violently, letting out a blur of noise before grabbing a hold of his helmet. “Hurk! What in _Sam Hell!?_ Where the--” he went stock still, body quaking with anger. “ _Who spit on my visor!?”_

Church -- Alpha, _Church_ \-- turned his projected form more toward Tex. He seemed panicky. “Tex, there’s not much time to explain, so I’m just gonna give you the summary here, ‘kay?” he announced firmly. “I’m a spirit now, and I’m trapped in the physical world.”

Tex blinked blankly at him.

“I possessed this Red guy so that I could sneak in to the base and rescue you while the rest of our guys run around out in the middle of the canyon dressed in black armor that they got from going through the teleporter.”

She glared at him for a moment, released a long sigh, and put her hand over her visor. Shaking her head just once she decided _fuck it.  
_

Tex looked back to him. “Okay.”

He flinched, a bit stunned. “What? That’s it? _Okay?_ You’re not surprised by any of this?”

“No,” she said with a firmness she wasn’t quite sure where it came from. “It _pretty much_ all makes sense.”

He wavered a bit, perhaps catching onto his own ludicrousness. “Not even the whole... _Church is a ghost_ thing? That didn’t do anything for ya?”

“I can see right through you,” she replied dryly. “It’s pretty obvious.”

If possible, the projection of Church almost seemed pepped up by this, shoulders lifting up. “Okay! Well... let me hop back in this guy, and we’ll get outta here.” 

He disappeared and the Red soldier did a full body convulsion. “Huuuuuurk!”

Tex just shook her head. 

“Okay, ready to go, buttercup--”

“I can probably still kill a ghost, Church.”

“Gotcha.”

They made their way toward the exit and immediately headed for the nearest rock facing. Tex almost wanted to commend Church on getting so much agility out of such an old soldier, but she found herself still too baffled at the self delusion she was witnessing. 

Once under cover from being seen by the rest of Red Base, Church turned toward her. 

“Alright, I’ll make one more distraction, then you run up to the teleporter and escape.” 

Tex sighed and nodded. 

“Ready? One... two... thr--”

Tex readied herself for a sprint when the ringing of gunfire and the clink of metal burst through the air. She took the time to turn completely and face Church again only to see his full projection and the body of the sergeant on the ground in a heap.

Church looked around wildly. “What the-- Where did my body go?” 

Immediately, he stiffened and turned to face the opposing cliff. “Oh, you’ve gotta be _kidding_ me!!!”

Tex followed his gaze, making out two figures in the distance before hearing a faint call of “Tucker did it!”

“You’re the sorriest bunch of soldiers in existence,” she informed Church.

He let out a long, aggravated groan. “I _know._ Just... I’ll work with what I can here. You go around the back. I’ll meet you at Blue Base.”

“Oh, I’ll meet you at Blue Base,” she said, heading out, “but _not_ because of your orders, fuckface.”

“Yeah, real nice to see you, too,” he snapped. 

And if there was a hint of a smile in either of their voices, they didn’t point it out. 

* * *

"Recovery One? Come in, Recovery One?”

“Recovery One? _Please respond.”_

“ _Agent Washington!”_

_David?  
_

Slowly, head still spinning, Wash opened his eyes. There was a painful, nauseous quake of his muscles when his neck moved slightly that forced him to rest on his cheek. He released a low groan, fingers twitching. 

His radio continued to sound off in his ear, but he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to it. 

Instead he focused on righting himself, considering his world was still fairly upside down. Eventually his fingers moved enough that he could dig into the earth -- he was still facing the ground, so he took a moment to push himself to his hands and knees. 

“Ow, _fuck,”_ he hissed, his left arm buckling, sending him shoulder first toward the ground. The pain of the impact sent his body into a spasm. 

Weakly, he opened his eyes and looked around himself, seeing the pool of red soaking into the dirt. 

He was shot. The goddamn sim trooper shot him in the back.

Literally.

“Agent Washington!?”

Sucking in as large of a breath as he could manage, Wash used his right arm to shove his body up, resting back on his knees and looking up to the endless sky. Almost instinctively, his right arm moved to his injured shoulder, feeling the crack of the armor. 

He was lucky that it was the sim trooper that shot him and not someone who knew what they were doing. 

“Recovery One, _please_ respond--”

Wash’s eyes narrowed. He looked down to his hand as he slowly drew it from his shoulder, scowling at the sight of blood before reaching up to his helmet and turning on his end of the radio. 

“Oh, thank god. We have a lock on a Level One distress beacon coming from your area--”

“Save it, Command,” Wash snapped.

There was a pause before the voice cleared its throat. “Ex _cuse_ me, Recovery One--”

“I don’t know what game you’ve been playing at, Command,” Wash ground out, “And to tell you the truth, I don’t care anymore. You _knew_ something was wrong in this sim trooper location.” Sitting back, Wash grabbed at the pouch in his belt where his toolkit was and achingly began to dig through it for what he needed. “You knew something I didn’t and you _refused_ to give me the information I needed.”

“It wasn’t necessary information for you, Recovery--”

“I got shot!” Wash growled. “How much more necessary would it have to be--”

“Recovery One, the information I did not divulge was not involved here.”

“And if it was I guess I would just never be the wiser,” Wash shook his head. He quickly used his tools to begin digging into one of the crevices of his chest plate. “Were you aware that Wyoming had the sim troopers working for him?”

“What? No. Of course not. Agent Washington--”

“Hm. I’m having a hard time believing you,” Wash hummed just before opening the plate enough to relieve some pressure from his arm. He released a low sigh of relief, then dug deeper, grabbing some of the circuits. Then he pulled them.

“What... Recovery One? What did you just... Your beacon is offline. Recovery One, please respond--”

“I know it’s offline,” he told her, slowly pushing to his feet. “That’s part of the equipment you were all upfront with me about. I’m _very_ good at my job when I have the information I need,” he reminded her. “I’m going to tear out this radio as well, Command. I’ll leave it and the tracer from the Recovery Beacon behind at the last location you’ll have for me because I know you’ve probably already mobilized someone.”

“Why? What are you doing?” 

“Going after Wyoming,” he responded as he reached up and pulled his helmet off. He glared at the thing before roughly cracking open the radio with his screwdriver. “And I’m doing it by trusting the only person I can.” He flicked the pieces of the radio out onto the ground and put the helmet back on. He’d have to stop once he was a safe distance and put the internal parts back together.

Until then, he drug himself toward his mongoose. 

Wyoming had made a _terrible_ mistake in not making sure he was dead.


	10. Recovery Two III: Hard Knocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> South's first information exchange has her encountering a ghost from the past.
> 
> Meanwhile, North and Theta face the facts of their new, dangerous position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: YES oh my gosh I love Dakota Twin chapters so much. There’s something I look forward to in each of the Recovery Agents’ parts, and I’m looking forward to certain heights (and depths) in all of the sections, but by the third round it’s pretty safe to say that writing the Dakota Twins has been just an absolute blast and I’m excited to be back on this one. 
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @godoflaundrybaskets, meirelle, Adelaide, and Yin for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

“Dear Counselor: I fucking _see_ you, prick. Sincerely, _this_ asshole.”

Hearing her message spoken so clearly from the droning tone of the Counselor was an absolute delight. If South had half a mind to do so, she would have recorded it on her helmet at the start of their little meeting and kept it on loop for her longer voyages. 

_Fucking delightful.  
_

Which was the exact opposite of the expression worn by the Counselor as he looked over his tablet, scowl firm on his face. 

That in itself was an accomplishment as far as South was concerned. It was _about time_ that she was making someone else upset or uncomfortable rather than the other way around. 

She crossed her arms over her chest and tossed her head back slightly. 

“I’m not entirely sure why this was worthy of a meeting unto itself, Counselor,” she fired back.

“You don’t find your language here disrespectful?” he asked severely.

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” South responded. “But there’s a difference between being purposefully disrespectful and accidentally disrespectful. Since this was the former, the fact that my point got across is pretty good in my opinion.”

The Counselor’s frown grew more and he adjusted in his seat. 

“As I suggested in our last meeting, South, I believe you view yourself as having dealt with some transgressions through our program.”

“Yeah,” she responded, glaring into him. “That would be because I have.”

He tapped his pen on the tablet. “And you don’t believe that, perhaps, the solution here would be to evaluate your own reactionary behavior?”

“No, I don’t,” she stayed firm. “That’s not how I play the game.”

“And you don’t believe that it is your failure to _play the game_ that has led to the majority of your transgressions through the program?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes,” she said darkly. “But you’re making a mistake, Counselor. You’re acting like there’s only two options here -- for me to play the game, or not to play the game. I think there’s a third.”

“Do you?” he asked, frown still apparent. “And have you discovered for yourself yet what that third option is?”

Keeping quiet, South looked to her lap, releasing a deep exhale from her nose before shaking her head. “I guess until I do I’m just technically in the _not playing_ option, right?”

When she looked up, the Counselor was writing away on his tablet. 

“This performance is unbecoming of an agent of your caliber, Agent South. We expected far more of you when we called you to this program.” He looked up at her. “You will be returned to assignment only if there is a marked improvement on your ability to follow our orders.”

South shook her head. “Okay, okay. Look. You and I _both_ know I’m going to go nuts if I’m cooped up here and that’s not going to work out for any of us. Right?” She tapped the table. “I’d also wager that you know what my _real_ problem with you all is here, right? You _know_ what I want to go after. You _know_ why I’m pissed off at the program first above all else right now.”

His attention fully on South, the Counselor leaned back, watching her, studying her. 

“If you want a happy, orderly little Recovery Agent, if you want me to be the spectacular Agent South who was a leader in the pack before all the shit was going down, you know what I want. You _know_ you’ve all been jerking me around,” she reminded him. “Just let me go after North. Let me get North. _For real._ And once that’s done, I’ll be happy. My conscience will be clear and I’ll be the happiest, most trustworthy Recovery Two on your whole fucking planet, Counselor.”

He watched her, putting the tablet pen to his lips and remaining quiet. It was just enough to make South’s blood want to boil. “Counselor, I’m _begging_ you--”

“Do you understand my concerns with letting you go after your own brother, Agent South?” the Counselor asked. “I don’t know how much objectivity you will carry -- “

“As long as you get North and _I_ get North, I don’t think it matters that much, now, does it?”

The Counselor closed his eyes in thought. He took a long, collective breath and then looked to South again. 

“We will consider your request and come back to you with an answer soon enough,” he told her. “You’re dismissed.”

Smirking, South got to her feet and headed out of the room. 

It was fine. She had other things to do, after all.

* * *

Even in his anger and disappointment, it was against Theta’s character to be a dormant AI. Loneliness was the one state he could not tolerate. 

So rather than the absent quiet of his mind or the curiously slow drum of pulsing that North had heard other agents describe in the program when the AI fell into non-activity, North found himself with a constant itch at the back of his neck. 

Theta had spent days by that point humming, scratching, vibrating on a different plane than North’s own mind, but its presence was a constantly felt entity. 

If anything, it should have tempted North to just pull the AI again, as the action had been devastating to his ability to sleep or to fully pay attention on sweeping patrols of their new location. But, as South had always been happy to say, North was nothing if not a stubborn bastard. And he had long since made a point of showing Theta that he was a partner that could be trusted. 

So he combated Theta’s sulking the best he could. He talked out loud as he laid awake in bed, leaving long pauses for Theta’s interjections that never came. He kept focus on his observations with his rifle scope by keeping a physical pad and pen to write down everything during his survey. And even if the constant murmur had eradicated his appetite, North forced himself to have a meal of the canned food or MRE that York and Delta had given them. 

And he continued to tell his stories about South and himself, a colony just on the outer orbits and how a set of twins managed to watch it be glassed just as they left orbit. 

“We used to be so similar when we were kids,” North said out loud, looking through his scope. “People used to ask if we had a connection. A twin thing.” He snorted a bit, shaking his head. “I don’t know. When we were really little we’d try it out. Try to see what the other was thinking but... no matter how many times we were right, it never felt like we were reading each other’s minds. _Whatever_ the ‘twin’ thing is supposed to be.”

He waited for a moment, breathed through his nose at the constant humming and pivoted his gun to continue inspecting elsewhere. 

“It never bothered me that people asked a dozen questions about being twins. But it bothered South. Always did,” he sighed. “South and I are competitive, Theta. But South thinks that she has to do everything alone to prove a point. Like if she gets real help, if she’s not _in charge,_ then it’s meaningless.” He frowned, backing up away from the scope and rubbing his eyes.

“Okay, maybe some of that’s my fault,” he admitted. “I push her a lot. I just. It’s a sibling thing. We might get upset over the same stuff, but I have a better time... I don’t know, _putting off_ reacting. I don’t have the need to go with the throes of the moment. And I know South does and it’s...” He looked back over the city line. It was so quiet and inactive -- a dying hub of a drained planet. “I didn’t want to hurt her. I knew she was unhappy with the program, with people doing better than us, with not getting an AI. But. Maybe for the first time I knew what it was she liked so much about being the one who wasn’t just _the twin._ And... I had you, Theta. At the end of the day, having you and being responsible for you has put a lot of that in perspective.”

He didn’t miss the flicker of a hologram over his shoulder, but he didn’t look to it either.

North sighed, leaned forward and put his head in his hands. 

“I’m not that different from York at the end of the day, am I, buddy?” he asked softly. “I was right. I _do_ what to help South get away from the past, from Freelancer. That’s _all_ I want for her. But... I need to tell her that I get it. I get why we fell apart, and it wasn’t just her. I knew what was going on but as long as it was me at the top, I didn’t care enough to make it stop.”

There was a moment of silence before Theta moved, standing more in front of North. His tiny head tossed to the side. 

“That’s not _all_ true, North,” Theta whispered. 

“It’s more true than it’s not,” he said softly, looking up to Theta with a broken smile. “I mean, I _do_ get my sister and my brother angry at me at an alarming rate. And usually it’s something _I’m_ doing, after all.”

Theta kicked the air. “Brother?”

“That’s you, Theta.”

“Oh!” The AI fell quiet, looking to his feet. “You didn’t trust me.”

“You were telling Maine where we were, whether you wanted to or not,” North said pointedly. “And that’s not something we can afford to do -- _at all._ Whether it’s Maine chasing us or Freelancer. You telling people where to find us... it’s dangerous, Theta. If I’m going to protect us, you _can’t_ do that.”

Theta dropped his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” North sighed. “And for what it’s worth... so am I. You’re right. I escalated the situation when I went with my gut instead of your numbers and got distracted by that projection of Maine first. We both made mistakes.”

“Like you and South?” Theta asked.

North smirked. “ _Exactly_ like me and South,” he agreed. “You know... a year is the longest I’ve ever gone without talking to my sister? I can hardly believe it... It just makes me worry that I’m running out of time to make things up to her.”

“It’s been that long for me and most of my brothers.”

Surprised, North had to blink a few times before looking back up at Theta, judging his projection carefully. Theta talked about Delta quite a bit, which was reasonable considering that they had spent so much time together on the road, but it was a _rare_ day for Theta to bring up the other AI fragments of Project Freelancer. 

“Do you miss them?” North asked, a little concerned. 

“I don’t know them. Not well,” Theta admitted, twiddling his thumbs together. “The only one I talked to, besides Delta, was Sigma. And Sigma... Sigma was very scary.”

Irrationally, North felt defensive of his small AI. “I didn’t know Sigma talked to you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Theta looked up cautiously. “Sigma said it was dangerous to say. And you never liked Sigma. I didn’t want to be in trouble.” He looked to his feet again. “Sigma used to tell all of us that we were supposed to be together. That’s why we always wanted to be closer but the program wouldn’t let us. He said we were pieces of a puzzle. And if we came together we would make a whole AI again.”

North frowned. “Was that true?”

“It _felt_ true,” Theta mumbled. “That’s what scared me. But... you and South... you made me think.” He looked back up to North, worry radiating from him. “If we were all one AI again... and that’s all we were... I couldn’t be Theta anymore, could I? I couldn’t be myself. I think that’s scary. I want to be a family with my brothers. But I don’t want to stop being Theta again.”

Looking to his hands, North sighed. “I’m sorry that you didn’t trust me enough to let me know these things, Theta. That is a _lot_ for you to have to think by yourself.”

“It’s okay, North,” Theta responded. “I _do_ trust you. You’re my brother now.” He paused, humming as he tapped a finger against his avatar’s mouthpiece. “I guess that makes South my sister.”

“I guess it would,” North agreed.

“Then I guess I want to be back with her just as much as you do,” Theta concluded. He held out his tiny projected hand. “I forgive you, North. Do you forgive me?”

North smiled and pretended to shake a finger for Theta’s tiny hands to clasp. “Theta, you were already forgiven.

* * *

It had been over a week since South first realized she was alone at Command, since Washington got to take her place right from under her. Once _again.  
_

But fortunately enough, her patience had been uncharacteristically in high supply after her meeting with the Counselor. 

Which didn’t mean she was sitting around and waiting idly as her request was look over. 

The training room had been open regularly without competition for it and she took advantage. Beat her time, made sure FILSS recorded the fractions of seconds she could shave off of Washington’s time, then start over again. 

From time to time she would stop and look mindfully toward the observation deck. No matter what, she wore her cocky grin and made a show of letting anyone watching know that she was keenly aware of their presence. Then, to herself, she’d wonder just what her chances were that that was even the case. 

She wondered only once if that was what Washington had always felt like, if that was why he looked ready to kill each time he glared above himself. 

But Wash never had an edge on the program, not like South. She mused that, perhaps, that edge was the difference in her mood as well. 

When she grew irritated with the wasting time, waiting for the Counselor’s answers, she knew that best person to annoy over it all was _not_ the intangible Counselor but rather Command’s dispatch. 

Retiring to her room after an evening in the training room, South directed her personal line to Command. 

“I am sorry, Recovery Two, but this line is unavailable,” FILSS’ voice surprisingly droned out.

South crinkled her nose. “FILSS, you’re not supposed to access this line--”

“I must block all incoming calls to Command dispatch currently, as that is my newest directive from the Counselor and Director of Project Freelancer,” the computer continued. “I am sorry for any--”

“No no, it’s alright. No inconvenience,” South said, leaning forward. She couldn’t help the toothy grin she was growing as she realized what kind of opportunity laid before her. “Say, Command wouldn’t happen to be too distracted to run some systemic maintenance, would they?”

“Oh, yes, Command is _very_ busy at the moment,” FILSS replied. “However, if it is system maintenance on your equipment, I am more than happy to assist you, Recovery Two!”

“Oh, wow, FILSS!” South called out in feigned excitement. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“It would be my pleasure!”

“Thanks, FILSS, it was very important,” South replied, plugging in a drive to her desk system. “And while you’re at it, would you mind scanning this? Just make sure it’s safe?”

“Of course, anything to be of assistance,” FILSS responded, chipper. “And for future reference, I am best suited for these tasks and would love to do them. There is no need to go to Command fist. Scan complete.”

“Thank you, FILSS,” South responded, smiling as she dropped the drive into her pocket. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

* * *

North carefully stirred the can of beans, not feeling they were particularly appetizing when Theta popped up in projection without his usual cloud burst of fireworks. The immediate sense of fear worked over North as he stared at Theta knowingly.

The AI flickered. “Sensor went off.”

“Which one this time?” North asked, already mobilizing, putting the can aside and grabbing for his always nearby rifle. 

“Corner of three-four-three and one-three-thirty-seven,” Theta announced, voice growing progressively worried as he blinked out then reappeared closer to North’s preferred vantage point, looking out over the cityscape already. “Rooftop. Clear view. Nine-thirty.”

“Thanks, Theta,” North grunted, dropping to the flat of his stomach at the alcove and immediately setting his sniper rifle into position. He quickly looked through the scope, waiting anxiously as his view lined up with Theta’s directions. 

Theta projected to his shoulder, giving off the usual faint glow across North’s face. 

“Is it him? Are we in danger?” Theta stage whispered, the nervous energy he pulsed with in the back of North’s mind quaking with his heightened anxiety.

“Can’t say yet, Theta,” North announced. He narrowed his eyes as he caught the glimmer of movement not far from the initial directions Theta had given him. “Hm. What do we have here?” he wondered out loud. 

“Oh, no, is it him!?” Theta cried out. “I’m trying _really_ hard, North! I haven’t made fireworks or checked any networks or anything since--”

“Shh, just a second, Theta,” North whispered as soothingly as he could manage as he caught up with the moving body in his scope. 

It wasn’t Maine. 

North exhaled sharply through his nose and followed the movement, watched the body, and felt his own jaw dropping slightly. 

Very unlike himself, North pulled away from his scope, sitting up some to blink and rub at his face before peering again. It didn’t take long to find the body racing across the rooftops. 

“North!? What’s the matter?” Theta squeaked.

“Theta, check something for me,” North ordered. “Who does that look like?”

The small AI hesitated before disappearing from view. North could feel the spread of Theta sinking deeper into his neural implants again, looking with North as they tracked the very person who had set off their set sensors. 

“That’s... not right,” Theta mumbled.

“Are you seeing the same person I’m seeing?” North asked. 

Theta withdrew and projected to North’s shoulder again, hands wringing nervously.

“I’m seeing Agent CT,” he announced. “But it’s such a _big_ distance and... CT’s dead and...”

North sat up and shook his head. “That armor’s too distinctive to not be her’s,” he announced. “I would recognize it anywhere. Wouldn’t you?”

“I didn’t know her as well as you did, North,” Theta reminded him. “She was a traitor already.”

“Yeah, well,” North looked over his shoulder. “We’re all traitors now, I guess.”

“But... they said she was dead, didn’t they? Would they lie about that?” Theta asked worriedly. 

“I don’t know,” North muttered back. “But... I guess it’s possible.”

They lapsed into silence as North watched for CT, slowly losing the figure in the distance. He shook his head, still feeling so numbed from that initial shock of possibly finding an old friend and ally.

“Are we going to try and meet her?” Theta asked. 

“I just don’t know, Theta, it doesn’t sit right,” North frowned, leaning his chin on his forearm after losing CT to the distant obstructions of the city. “I know I can’t trust half the horse hockey we were told by Freelancer... but CT dying was something we were all there for, even if I didn’t see it myself.”

“So it... _isn’t_ her?” the AI asked in confusion. 

“I’ll put it this way, Theta. Whoever this is... they set off a sensor,” North reminded him. He then looked carefully to Theta. “Connie _never_ would have set off a goddamn sensor.”

“Okay,” Theta nodded. “I’m gonna monitor all the sensors even more.”

“I’d appreciate that, Theta, thank you,” North nodded. He sighed and rubbed his face. “Maybe... maybe we should think about packing up again, too. Close call with Maine... someone else with Freelancer equipment running around... this might not be the best place to set up a meeting with South after all,” he sighed.

“If there’s so much danger... do you think we should find Delta and York?” Theta asked, voice small with apprehension.

“Maybe,” North sighed. Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.

Theta seemed incredibly pleased before disappearing on North. 

The former special agent sighed and roughly rubbed at his face. It wasn’t how he wanted things to go at all.

* * *

With Command still distracted well into the night, South made her move. 

She was smart enough to know never to attempt contact on a traceable channel from Command, and as such had been sure to see to it that Hargrove and his Charon buddies set up station for her off base. She she messaged them earlier that day, her only message had been “package” and a time -- three hundred hours -- to meet. 

She knew that it wasn’t likely to be a message overlooked given the Chairman’s interest in any inside information the Director and Counselor would never be willing to give. 

Quietly in the middle of the night, South pulled herself from her cot and checked FILSS’ localized hub a few feet from the office desk. Smirking to herself, South pushed off from her cot and padded over to the computer. 

Pulling the equipment away from the wall, she quickly assessed the wires, reached in, and pulled out a fistful. 

“Whoops,” she said to herself, watching as the glow of the equipment dimmed and extinguished entirely. With another firm push, South shoved the hub back into alignment then headed over to her armor. It wasn’t advisable to put on the Freelancer tech without FILSS’ supervision, but then it would have been documented and South couldn’t have that. 

It took a while, almost twenty minutes from the time she started to pull on the pieces of her armor, equipped the enhancements of choice, and started to undo the hatch she pulled together in her bathroom for the air ducts, but the results were worth it. And it wasn’t long after all that she was on her way to the offsite Charon radio hub 

Just enough results to be worth a grand show of patience for South. 

When she arrived, South slowed to a walk, looking around the area, then checking her HUD clock for the time before shrugging. There was no one to be seen. 

“Guess I showed up to my own party a little early,” she huffed, holstering her rifle behind her shoulder, and making her way toward the hub. She checked it, hands running over the simple equipment. “No messages for me from... not Command. What the fuck did he want to call it again?”

“The word you’re looking for is _Control.”_

Without a moment’s hesitation, South pulled her handgun and shot right between the eyes of the figure behind her. Her breath hitched as she looked into the face of the very familiar brown armor, the yellow eyes piercing right back.

“CT?” she mouthed before watching the figure flicker out of existence. South’s glare hardened. “A hologram...?”

“That’s the thing with, the Chairman,” the voice continued, drawing South’s attention and aim toward the true source just a few feet further back. He stepped forward, larger and broader than CT ever was, but the armor so clearly the same. He tilted his head. “He’s all about feeling that sense of power...”

Snarling, South readied her gun. “And just who the _fuck_ are you?” she demanded, gun whipping up and down his body. “And who the fuck gave you that armor and enhancement?”

“You don’t need to know me personally, not yet,” he said darkly. “And to be honest, I don’t care if we ever _do_ get to know each other. Just call me CT.”

“Not fucking happening,” she roared back. 

“Then call me nothing, bitch,” he snapped. “All you need to know is I’m here for Control. And that if you’re wasting our time, well, I have the Chairman’s complete faith. And I’m sure he’ll not mind too much if I saw the need to take you the fuck down.”

“Work on your threats, fuckface,” she snapped. “You’re not as scary as you think you are, because if you’re really here for the Chairman then I’m the one who has what you want.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’m sure the Chairman would be _very_ forgiving if you failed to give him information from inside Project Freelancer, though. So why don’t you just try his patience? If he has _such_ good faith in you.”

The man stayed toward the shadows, keeping his gaze even with South’s for a good run, before he peered down and took a breath. When he looked up, his shoulders were less squared. “Alright,” he snapped. “Give me what you’ve got.”

“Two things,” she replied, never taking her hand from her gun but reaching with her free hand to her belt. She pulled out the two drives, tossing the first toward the so-called CT. “That’s a copied scan of FILSS.”

“Phyllis?” the man snorted back.

South narrowed her eyes. “Shut the fuck up, you have no idea what you’re talking about,” she sneered. “ _FILSS_ is the Freelancer Integrated and Logistics Security System. She’s _vital_ to the daily operations of every part of the program and your most likely bet for giving me something back that can hack the entire system for more of Hargrove’s attention. Tell him to get his dumbfuck scientists working on _that.”_

“You can’t do it yourself?” he demanded.

“I’m _not_ a hacker, I’m a soldier and, when needed, a spy,” she reminded him. “I could try, but the chances of me getting caught increase a _lot_ when that happens. Get me some help, I’ll do what needs to be done beyond that.” 

He glared at her. “Our last source was able to give us much more than this without needing coding--”

“Yeah, the _real_ CT was good,” South hissed. “She still got caught. _Or did you forget.”_

The man looked ready to lunge, prompting South to cock her gun as a reminder of his position. He stewed in place instead. “No,” he snapped. “No, I _don’t_ have to be reminded.”

“Good,” South replied before tossing the second drive. “And that’s the specs he told me he wanted about the planetary scans. They’re years old -- from before the UNSC gave the colonies over to Freelancer for these projects. No idea why the fuck you _Control_ assholes wanted it so bad.”

The impostor CT held up the drive, looking it over before plugging it in to the cuff of his armor. 

South waited before letting out a low grunt, drawing his attention back to her. “Okay, _maybe_ I was being too obtuse with that. Forgive me. I’ll stick to being direct. _Why_ the hell did your bastard boss want old geologic scans of the planet to begin with? What’s that have to do with Freelancer?”

He looked her over, as if surprised, then released a low laugh, shaking his head. 

“You actually believed that Hargrove was just interested in some payback and a little side of justice against your bastard boss for breaking some laws about AI code?” he laughed. “What a group of naive pricks you all are at the end of the day. This must have been how you were so easily led to slaughter by this fucking program.”

Angrily South dove forward, tackling the man to the ground, pressing an arm into his throat. “You have something to say to me, you bastard? Try saying it now. May I remind you, I’m a little _tired_ of being played around with, so I’d recommend you tell me what’s going on before I kick your ass to get the information.”

He coughed, shaking his head. “Hargrove doesn’t do any operation that doesn’t have value to him in the end,” he replied, voice straining. “This planet got his attention to begin with because the UNSC chose to give it to Doctor Church over Charon Industries to begin with, they were both vying for it as a resource to their projects. There’s more than just colonized terrain here. When the UNSC first set foot on this planet it was still covered in alien technology. Most of it was gone after just a few years of colonization, but some of the untouched ruins could possibly hold more alien technology than we could ever hope to find in other planets under UNSC control.”

South sat up on his chest, looking down at him. She threw up her hands. “ _Who the fuck cares about alien shit?”  
_

“Hargrove cares. He cares a lot, more than you could imagine,” he replied coughing for air. “Even if the war’s almost over, he thinks the ability to turn on alien tech will--”

Without warning, South knocked him down to the ground again, looking angrily into his face. 

“What. The fuck. Do you _mean?”_ she roared. “ _How can the war almost be over?”_

He stared back at her, that mask, those eyes so hauntingly like CT. He shook his head. “You poor fucks had no idea. All this bullshit you endured... all the people -- _my_ people -- you killed in a petty dispute. All of us... at the end of the day, we missed our true calling.”

South stared at him before slowly pulling herself off and raising to her feet. A numbness settled over her, she was almost sick. 

“Life’s a bitch, ain’t it?” the soldier laughed as he got off the ground. 

She stood quietly, soaking in everything, before turning to face the man claiming to be CT again. She scowled. “Where’s _my_ end of the trade?” she demanded. “Where’s the information on North.” 

When he tossed a similar drive, South caught it without even looking, her fist closing around it with all her might. 

Instead of checking it, she kept her watch on CT as he readied to leave, hesitating only to look at her.

“The real CT died doing this, you know,” he reminded her. “You must _really_ think you’re better than everyone else to think you can do better than she did.”

South flipped him her finger and watched as he disappeared into the night. She then looked to the drive in her hand and plugged it into her armor. The display appeared with a map and an encircled radius. 

*

Her attention was on the training floor, running the drills, securely knocking into the dummies with everything she had. She hardly took notice of the differences in FILSS rhythm of compliments even as she came to an end. 

South paused finally, having beat her score yet again, and roughly rubbed the sweat from her brow, looking up toward the ever present blue eye of FILSS on the console above.

“What’s up?” she more demanded than asked. “You’re being... funky.”

“My apologies, Recovery Two, but I was ordered to not interrupt you with the news until you were formally done with your exercising.”

“Well _now_ would be that time, FILSS,” South pointed out, beginning to unwrap her hands. 

“Yes, very well. Recovery Two, we have a new mission assigned to you and it is just _wonderful!”_ FILSS announced.

“Oh?” South questioned, leaning back against the bench as she continued to stare up at FILSS’ screen.

“Yes!” FILSS continued, seemingly ignorant of the ambivalence in South’s voice. “We believe to have finally found a lead on Agent North Dakota!”

“You don’t say,” South smirked. “Who _ever_ could have predicted that coming?”

“I apologize. I do not understand the nature of this question,” FILSS hesitated.

“Don’t worry too much about it, FILSS,” South announced, heading toward the door. “Prepare my suit for the field. Get me a ride. I’m about to have a little reunion with my precious twin brother.”

“I do wish you luck, Recovery Two. Recovering your own sibling must be very difficult--”

“I’m all choked up,” South responded, pushing through the door. “And, FILSS, I won’t _need_ luck.”

* * *

 

"Alright, so by going through what Delta shared with us, you think you can map us a way to him and York?” North asked for what probably felt like the hundredth time to the AI. 

“Nooooorth.”

“Theta, this isn’t me doubting you, alright, buddy?” North explained, breaking down the last of the supplies that they couldn’t carry and pulling it toward the stairs of the loft. “I just have to make sure we’re on the same page before we make a move this big. That’s all.”

“And following Delta and York’s such a big move?” Theta asked, head tossing to the side as his sprite floated after North. “I don’t think it’s _that_ big of one.”

“It’s pretty damn big, li’l guy,” North assured him as they carried down the stairs. “Theta--”

“Okay, okay. Yes. I’m sure,” Theta answered at last. “I’m really excited about this, North! Oh! Are we going to steal a car?”

“Maybe,” North chuckled. “Depends on how well--” 

They both flinched as Theta’s entire being went into high alert. The AI’s body let out a gasp before disappearing from sight to concentrate on more delicate operations from within the suit.

North dropped the trash and raced back to the loft, grabbing his gun. “Theta?”

“Sensor warning! One mile. West. Street level,” Theta spat out as quickly as possible. 

“That’s not enough for an alarm,” North pressed as they began racing down the stairs.

“Then half a mile closer en route to the New Nest!” Theta continued, sounding increasingly panicked. 

“We can’t afford a freak out, Theta, stick with me, talk to me,” North ground out, dropping to a crouch by the first level’s door, pressing himself against the wall. He waited, listening for a go ahead. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Theta remarked before flickering into existence over North’s shoulder. He looked to the door. “Street level. Closing in. Clear in three. Two... _one--”_

North kicked the door open, eyes widening as Theta screamed in his head _DUCK_ which he then did. The sound of a gun clipping the door frame above wasn’t lost on the agent. 

He gathered himself up enough to crawl outside and slide beneath the dumpster he had been heading toward. His eyes narrowing. 

“That shot was way off mark,” he muttered. “Are they not at a good range or...”

“North, they’re approaching!”

Pulling his legs to his chest North waited, locked the magnetized bottoms of his boots to the dumpster siding. “Theta?”

“Now!”

With all his might, North threw his body into the kick off, Theta unlocking his boots in time to throw North back and the dumpster forward toward their pursuer. 

Managing to land it, North tore forward, heart racing. He needed distance -- had to see for himself who it was that was chasing them, whether it was Maine or the mysterious possible CT when he heard a creaking noise. 

He turned, eyes wide just in time for the dumpster to come hurdling back for him.

“North! Jump now!” Theta commanded.

Barely just managing the order, North did so, only for his leg to get caught, sending him spiraling face first to the cement. He let out a pained groan as he hit the ground with a thud. 

Trying to get up, North began shaking his head. “Theta, give me an idea--”

“Wait! North! I think it’s okay,” Theta piped up, appearing over North’s shoulder. He looked up at the approaching figure as it stopped. “I think we can trust her.”

Blinking, North looked up. He felt a relief grow over his bones as he looked at the familiar armor of his sister. 

“South,” he let out weakly. “Thank god--”

“North,” she growled, pulling her arm back, “Shut up!” 

He saw the fist coming and then the lights went out to the sound of Theta gasping.


	11. Intermission: Foreseen Circumstances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of everything, the Counselor must determine how to march forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And now for something completely different! I don’t know how many people reading Recovery None also read my previous big story for RvB, Divided, but those who did might remember that I broke up the POV every couple of chapters with an Intermission of different character perspectives than the ones we had been following. I plan on doing the same for Recovery, but I also acknowledge that it’s a bit complicated compared to Divided since my perspective has been purposefully more limited in this story. So I’m curious to see what you guys think about these inserts!
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @meirelle, @godoflaundrybaskets, and Yin for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

He hadn’t given FILSS’ urging that much consideration. After all, she was a dummy AI and with the UNSC Oversight Subcommittee continuing to breathe down his neck, Aiden Price had more stalwart concerns. 

At least he had until the nagging concern about _protocols_ and _patients_ continued to raise ugly. Then he found himself speedily walking to the Command hub.

His brow furrowed at the steadily raising level of noise and frustrated roaring that was coming from within the sector. 

By the time he reached the door, it was only a quick reflex that allowed him to duck under the radio equipment that their operative, the aptly named Four Seven Niner, had decided to chuck from her desk. 

“FUCKERS!” she screamed, slamming a balled fist hard enough against the monitor in front of her that its frame dented. 

The Counselor watched her carefully, eyes flickering away only briefly as FILSS’ eye appeared on the monitor to his left. He then looked back to the heavily heaving former pilot, seeing her shoulders trembling. 

He was an expert at reading people, at analyzing them and, to the project’s advantage, pushing them toward directions and positions that would otherwise be beneficial to the project’s needs. 

It was his job and he was _very_ good at it. 

And it was because of that he k new when _not_ to approach a situation unguarded. 

Niner, as it were, was ready to snap. 

Price had been concerned for this day coming for a while. But they had precious little access to people who were high enough in Project Freelancer to move covertly to the Recovery Unit, had little prospect for continued military work without them, _and_ could be held as an emotional and mental advantage to their remaining agents. 

Truly, no one had fit the bill for the operative of Command quite like Four Seven Niner. 

And no one could have been more ready to turn on them outside of the Recovery Agents themselves. 

Taking a step inside, the Counselor only hesitated in reaching to put a hand on Niner’s shoulder. Which was fortuitous considering she whizzed her chair around, face already a snarl. 

“Command,” he said smoothly, “you seem to be upset and, as a result, not operating under the most keen of instincts--”

“Counselor, _kindly_ get the fuck out or I’ll be testing how good your instincts for _living_ are,” Niner snapped angrily.

“There is no need for threats of violence,” he chided.

“You think so?” she sneered before pointing angrily toward her monitors. “We have _three_ agents out in the field. _Three._ Do you know how many are dark on me right now? Do you?” Her fist slammed down. “ _All three,_ Counselor! And at least one of them is injured -- bad enough that his suit sent out a distress signal before he ripped it out--”

Price tilted his head back, eyes widened. “Agent Washington has gone off radar?”

“At least he bothered to give me a proper head’s up!” she seethed. “He got shot in the back by some of your goddamned Sim Troopers and decided he can’t trust us in the field. Can’t say he’s wrong.” She waved to Carolina and South’s screens. “As for these two? _Fuck if I know._ Carolina’s pissed but at least I _think_ she’s on the Meta’s trail. South hasn’t reported in once since she left with a gungoose -- one that mysteriously hasn’t been tracking at any of the checkpoints which either means she’s said _fuck the roads_ or she’s ditched entirely.”

He stared at Niner then back to the screens, at the exhausted looking faces profiled on the otherwise blank screens. 

“None of this news is acceptable, Four Seven Niner,” he said clearly.

“Well, as someone with the status to _do_ something about that,” she sneered in return, “I suggest you get on it, _Counselor._ Because I sure as fuck can’t do anything.”

“There’s not much to be done,” he replied before turning only to have his hand grabbed forcefully. He looked back on Niner’s reddened face.

“Those were my friends,” she reminded him, almost hissing. “They did a lot of bullshit for you specifically because of that. Because _my_ voice was trustworthy. That’s part of why you picked me, isn’t it?” 

He looked at her but responded with nothing.

“They feel manipulated and pissed because of it. And they feel that way because they _are_ just pawns here--”

“They’re soldiers,” he reminded her darkly. “All of our agents were marines, airmen, _soldiers_ first and foremost. This project was dedicated to serving humankind on a new and developing level. They were chosen because they were thought to be _the_ most capable operatives for such assignments.”

“If that’s true, why did you have them fighting _each other?”_ she demanded. “Face it, you wanted _one_ super soldier capable of being your dog to the military. Well you got him, not because he was the best or the most loyal, but because something else was able to make a good soldier become something inhuman. And you’re _still_ pitting everyone who’s left against each other in some kind of stupid, demeaning social test by withholding information.” Her eyes narrowed. “What are you going to do when that leads to everyone being dead and then there’s no one to stop this _thing_ they’ve been after?”

Working his wrist free, Price shook his head. “Your dedication to minimizing the reality of this situation is unfortunate, Niner. We want what’s best for the survival of humanity first. And once, so did all of you.”

As he walked out, he didn’t miss her call, “You don’t even know what human _is_ anymore.”

* * *

Contact was meant to be a one way street with them. It was a safety precaution that Price had recommended to the doctor himself as they first began forming the Recovery Unit and dealing with the deeply divided opinions of the Oversight Subcommittee after the ascension of their most ruthless competitor. 

But, given the circumstances, he wasn’t sure what else he could do without first convening with the Director himself. 

“This is most unusual, Counselor,” the man’s voice drawled from the communicator. 

Price stared quietly into the monitors, at the blank vid screens that were not in lockdown with FILSS’ large and unyielding gaze. It had been months since he had last seen the Director’s face, and it didn’t seem to be a day where he’d see a change to that either. 

Instead, he looked back to his own camera, knowing full well that his every expression was being examined and noted. 

“Then you already know what a necessity it must have been for me to contact you,” he urged. “I do not break protocol lightly, Director. But I believe that we are reaching a point of no return with our program. I believe... Well, I believe we are losing _control_ and may have to soon engage in another course of action--”

“Let’s not be too hasty,” the Director replied almost flippantly. “First, explain to me what exactly it is _you_ seem to think has been lost.”

Scowling slightly, Price pulled up his tablet and quickly began pulling up the various files he took such diligence in updating. The profiles of Carolina, Washington,South, Four Seven Niner, Wyoming, York, North, Florida, Tex, and the Meta in conjunction with Agent Maine all appeared between Price and the screen.

“If possible, the movements of the Meta have become even _more_ erratic. Even the dummy switched AI that we have placed in the fields are not drawing its attention. It seems to be following only the movements of known lucid fragments,” the Counselor moved North, York, and Wyoming’s profiles to the front, “Or, even more focused on as of late, test sites and storage sights of _critical_ armor enhancements.”

“And what do you believe that means?”

“Truthfully? It would seem to me as if the Meta has a plan, or at least a basic understanding of what items it would require to improve its odds in further altercations with our operatives,” the Counselor explained eloquently. “It is possible that any additional AI to the Meta could improve its capacity, it’s foresight, in which case we would most certainly be rendered incapable of putting an end to it with any singular agent.”

“I have a hard time feeling sorry for the poor bastards who stole our equipment and AI to make themselves larger targets, Counselor,” the Director sneered. “But the idea that we could be coming into some hard times for the Recovery Unit is unfortunate.”

Drawing the profiles back only to push Carolina, South, Washington, and Niner forward, Price felt himself frown even further. “Which is why it is so critical that I tell you this instant that we have lost contact or complete control of our special agents as of this moment,” he announced.

There was a beat as the Director seemed to stew over that news before he gruffly snapped out, “This is _not_ news I wanted to hear. In what way did you ‘lose contact’ and with whom?”

“All three field agents are not contactable,” he explained. “Agent South was sent after her brother yesterday and has yet to make contact with anyone in the program nor has her vehicle crossed any checkpoints according to our radars.”

“South has a hard time following orders,” the Director growled. “Do you suppose she has joined her brother?”

“I believe that of our agents, while South lacks the most respect for the program, she is the one most predictable in her actions for now,” the Counselor announced. “She has no loyalty to us. She _will_ turn her back on the program. But for now she is doing exactly as she said she would. She is seeking out her brother, and she is taking him down.”

There was a noise of approval over the line. “I suppose you would be correct in that accord, Counselor. I must admit, I am surprised the most with Washington’s disappearance.”

“That is... an unusual set of circumstances,” the Counselor admitted, waving to the blinking alert beneath Washington’s picture. “Our last contact with him today was when he was injured severely on the field, chasing after former Agent Wyoming.” He made a pained expression and shook his head. “I have spent months forging an unsteady set of boundaries with Washington. His paranoia and lack of contacts outside of myself has left him with an inability to trust others and thus being fairly unapproachable should any of our adversaries wish to reach out to him. His betrayal from a Sim Trooper while hunting Wyoming seems to have aggravated those unsteady boundaries.”

“You couldn’t have foreseen that paranoia being directed at us?” the Director asked critically.

“It was only a matter of time, but it was something I would have employed _for_ us later,” the Counselor shook his head. “I have had several hours of logged time with the Epsilon unit attempting to get as much of an understanding of what it is Washington saw for that reason... but now...”

He trailed off, letting out a heavy sigh. He couldn’t more adequately express his disappointment than that. 

“And. Of Agent Carolina...”

The Counselor slid his eyes closed and released a long sigh. Carolina’s news was what he had wanted to deliver the least. 

“Carolina went dark earlier today, before Washington. Her’s was also by choice, though not nearly as dramatic. She had been chasing the trail of the Meta when she last logged in and hadn’t seen any sign. She was then answering another disturbance that made it onto our radars.”

“Your assessment of this, Counselor?”

“She might come back online after she has taken care of whatever it is she has been doing on her own in her last several missions,” he said. “She gave no indication otherwise.”

“Then that is what will happen.”

“Sir, I believe is our mole,” the Counselor announced almost in annoyance. “She fits every characteristic I can think of, she has the training and the resources, and, _Sir,_ I must remind you that she is the most likely one to know--”

“I believe, Counselor, that I am far more aware of Carolina’s motives and intentions than you shall _ever_ be,” the Director responded haughtily. “So believe me when I say, I will trust Carolina to do for me _exactly_ what I need her to do.”

Narrowing his eyes, The Counselor stared back. “And will I be informed of what exactly this is, Director?”

“In time,” the Director responded. “What of our former pilot? Why is she drafted into this?”

“I believe I have completely lost what little maintenance I had on Four Seven Niner before,” the Counselor responded. “I do not believe she can continue to work in the capacity of our Command outreach--”

“This has a simple solution, Counselor. _Remind_ her that she is facing criminal charges should she not continue to serve this program, and _remind_ her that these are _not_ her friends or teammates. Not even Carolina.” He paused. “And _just why,_ pray tell, are Florida and Texas on this list?”

“It has been months since Florida’s last transmission or update,” the Counselor explained. “We sent him reinforcements in the form of weapons, a new private, and a tank, but since then no activity. There seems to be a continuous loop with the radio there -- the VIC system is working but we can’t get past it to contact either bases. I am sending a medical officer from the Recovery Unit in order to get at least a brief survey of all the statuses.”

“Fine,” the Director huffed. “But _Texas--”_

“A problem that continues to warrant address, Sir. You won’t allow any of the Recovery Agent to prioritize her, nor will you disclose the current locations of your experimentation so that you could be protected from her--”

“Neither of those things are necessary or wanted,” the Director snapped. “Agent Texas is my concern and my concern alone.”

“I disagree,” Price stifled a snap of his own. “As long as it is part of this program--”

“ _This program_ by your own words is currently in shambles, Counselor,” the Director retorted. “I am working on my end on a solution to our woes with the UNSC. That is all I have the time or energies to do with that bastard Hargrove breathing down our necks. So I _suggest_ that before you bother me again, you take care of these problems.”

Feeling the faintest of twitches in his frown, the Counselor took a heralding breath and closed his eyes. “Of course, Director. I’ll... do my best.”

“You’d better,” the Director responded before his feed went completely out. 

FILSS watched carefully as the Counselor began to close out of his windows and slowly formulate a new plan.


	12. Recovery Zero IV: Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolina decides to begin building her new team, but York and Delta aren't entirely on board for everything they have just learned about their former leader's methods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Man, some of you have been waiting for this reunion for QUITE a bit of time, but most people honestly seemed really surprised to have York and Carolina find each other as quickly as they did! Never fear, though, my friends, things are rarely simple in this story. Save maybe a bit of this chapter. This chapter is the emotional relief chapter in a lot of ways. 
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @godoflaundrybaskets, @meirelle, Yin, @ephemeraltea, and Nivalisflake for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

The shock on York’s face was so genuine that Carolina could see it through helmet and armor. His body was rigid, hands still out in front of him even after the gun had slipped from his grasp. 

She looked over him, assessing as best as she could. The wear and tear of a year without armor checks and proper maintenance had made themselves apparent -- there was chipping to his paint and more than a few dents that had been haphazardly pushed back out. 

But his stance was still sure footed, or at least as much as it could have been given the apparent shock to his system. And he didn’t seem to be favoring any sides or lacking any arsenal.

Thief and lockpick all in one still, it seemed. 

Finally, his arms dropped, his body straightening up -- more open to attack, more trusting than Carolina dared to give him back -- and he stepped forward, head tilted to the side. 

“ _Carolina?”_ he asked, disbelief littering his voice. 

“Yes, York,” she responded, a little sardonically.

In a blink, Delta appeared over York’s right shoulder, his green glow immediately drawing Carolina’s eyes to him. She’d almost forgotten to account for the logical AI in the excitement of confronting York again. 

“York, I have run a diagnostic scan and it _appears_ to be Agent Carolina,” the small AI alerted its partner before looking directly at Carolina, a strange energy coming from him. “However, those same logs also report Agent Carolina as dead in the Freelancer files. So I am uncertain of their reliability.”

Delta’s interjection was enough to straighten York’s shoulders once more, and he looked at least somewhat more apprehensive toward Carolina as he did so, fists by his sides. He seemed almost torn.

So Carolina took the next step forward. York looked at her intensely. 

“The records are right,” she said. “I’m Carolina. I’m _also_ dead according to Freelancer’s records. But... we _both_ know that couldn’t be right. Don’t we?”

He seemed almost unwilling to breathe before he shook his head. 

“Alright, there’s a _lot_ not adding up here,” he announced. “I’m just...”

Holding up a hand, Carolina stopped York in his tracks before reaching up to her helmet, clicking back the release catch, and pulling off, letting him see what was underneath, and letting herself see him with her own eyes. 

Delta flickered over York’s shoulder but disappeared again as the former Freelancer seemed to all but melt.

“Carolina,” he whispered, almost reverently.

“So they call me,” she replied just before finding herself locked in a crushing hug. She coughed slightly as she was pulled into York’s chestplate, lightly punching his shoulder. “York!”

He barely even flinched, body shaking. “Oh my _god!”_ he breathed out through the helmet speaker. “Carolina! I ... _FUCK!”_

For a moment she thought about how a quick hit could force herself loose, but she didn’t. She waited a moment, ignoring the crushing weight as she rested her cheek against York’s shoulder. 

It went on for maybe a moment too long, but before Carolina could fully bring herself to break it, she felt the soft glow of the projected AI on York’s other shoulder. 

“I do believe there’s a degree of discomfort being experienced by Agent Carolina here, York,” Delta alerted him.

At first, York didn’t seem ready to move, his helmet’s chin pressing slightly into the crook of Carolina’s neck as he held her. “Are you going to disappear if I let you go?” he asked in a low whisper.

“I don’t think so,” she returned. 

He released her, stepping back just enough to keep his hands on her shoulders. York’s head bobbed as he did a full inspection over her, then he released a low breath again. “You’re... you’re _alive_ but... _How?_ Where have you _been?_ How did you find me?”

“All this time looking and you don’t have some of those answered yet, York? I’m a little surprised,” Carolina responded, head tilted back.

York’s shoulders dropped slightly, confused. “What does _that_ mean? How did you...”

Looking back over her shoulder, Carolina checked on the status of the Recovery Agents she had knocked out and then looked back to York. She threw her thumb back toward the hill she had come from. 

“This isn’t the safest place to have this talk,” she explained. “I have a Mongoose waiting back there. Can you still drive yours?”

“Huh?” York asked, still slightly stunned. 

Delta nodded. “We are operational, though perhaps not for too long of distances. We’ve exhausted several supplies and one of our tires is flattened.”

“We don’t have to drive for long,” Carolina promised. “Then we can... catch up. Answer questions. You seem to have a few.”

York tightened his stance some before scooping down to pick up his dropped weapon. “That’s putting it lightly,” he replied. 

“Then let’s get going,” she said, heading toward her own vehicle and trying to ignore the mixture of excitement and concern she carried in her chest with York’s eyes so obviously directed at her back. 

* * *

He leaned forward, forearms bracing against the handlebars as he tried to rationalize through everything. His heart was still pounding but everything else was chilled to the bone. And without Carolina in his sights again he was beginning to feel anxious. 

“I don’t like when my information is contradictory, York,” Delta sighed from his shoulder, that tinge of worry in their shared mind becoming more and more unavoidable.

“Well, that makes two of us, buddy,” York replied. 

Still, his heart picked up once more as Carolina appeared on her own mongoose, nodding over her shoulder to them before leading them out. Her helmet was back on, but York couldn’t look away from how _right_ every excruciating detail about her was.

York knew she was Carolina. Every fiber of his being knew that he’d finally come across a small victory. 

And yet it was still so hard to _believe.  
_

Probably in thanks to Delta by his side, looking worriedly after Carolina even as York started up their vehicle and took off after her lead. 

“I’m worried about our ability to make reasonable choices in these circumstances, York,” Delta spoke up again. “I believe we are emotionally compromised.”

“You’re emotionally compromised? That’s not like you,” York responded, eyes set on Carolina.

“It was a _royal_ we, York. I did not wish to come across as accusatory.” 

“Oh, so it’s just me that is emotionally compromised. That sounds more accurate,” York sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Dee. It’s... it’s everything I wanted but... nothing that I expected.” He paused. “Oh, actually. Nevermind. I _do_ know what to tell you. _I told you so.”_

“I had a feeling you would say that,” Delta responded almost in a sigh.

“Yeah, that’s because I was _right,”_ York rubbed in.

“Logic was on my side,” Delta countered.

“Well, there’s a reason humans aren’t purely logical creatures,” York joked. 

“Noted with objection, York,” the AI replied curtly. 

As Delta often did when he felt less than confident about his stakes in an argument, he disappeared from York’s shoulder, leaving the former Freelancer with some degree of silence as they carried forward. 

York watched Carolina, kept his speed in check, and wondered how far out she was leading them. 

There was a part of him that wanted to show off, to speed forward and pull alongside her. Carry conversation like old times -- banter and flirt, send a few smarmy comments her way just to rile her up. 

He craved it almost as much as he had craved her. There was a lighter burning a hole in one of his pockets but it was only the _tip_ of the iceberg that would be unleashed.

All the questions. All the hurt. 

It was enough to keep him backed off even without Delta’s more leveled concerns constantly buzzing in his head. 

He was trying to prioritize, to figure out what was the best option to ask and in what order, when finally they pulled to a stop. York pulled in a few feet from Carolina, watched as she jumped off her mongoose, begin pulling transmitters and wires from it, then how she pulled a radio-like device out from the back of her vehicle and began setting it up a few feet from a standard looking campsite. 

“This should keep us under cover from satellite for a while, though I’ll have to report in eventually so they don’t start asking questions,” she explained to him as she worked.

York pushed off from his gungoose and looked over her carefully. He wanted to blame Delta for the rise in suspicion but it wasn’t completely accurate. 

“Yeah?” he managed to utter, crossing his arms. 

She stopped as she stuck the device in the ground, head tilting back enough to look over her shoulder before she began to stand up again, looking at York almost cautiously. 

“I imagine you have questions about all of this,” she said almost casually.

“More than a few,” he agreed, walking toward her. He motioned over her, head shaking. “Carolina... _you’re alive!_ You... Tex said she saw Maine rip your AI from you... Removing implants alone would have killed someone. But then... they said you were thrown over the cliff and _that_ was at least a hundred foot drop... But you... Delta and I checked records over. And over. And over--”

Delta projected, his head already tilted to the side. “And _over again.”_

York kept his eyes locked on Carolina, sucking in a deep breath before he shook his head. “They said you were dead. And I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t. But...”

“I appreciate you trusting me enough to know I wasn’t, York,” Carolina said genuinely. “I do. I know it must have been difficult--”

“It’s more than that,” York replied, still searching Carolina’s face and getting nothing with that helmet. “How did you survive? How did this happen -- who are you contacting to keep from asking questions?”

She tilted her head back, as if a bit taken aback by the abruptness. “Alright, you need answers. I appreciate that, York,” she replied, crossing her arms. “To begin with... you’re right. If the Meta--”

“You mean Maine,” York fired back.

“No,” Carolina replied almost somberly. “I don’t.” She sighed, shaking her head. “If the Meta had pulled out my implants, it would have killed me. And I don’t doubt that it was what he was readying to do... but instead, Eta and Iota forcefully ejected from the neural interface,” she explained, her eyes flickering back to York. “With their chips already dislodged, the Meta took them instead.”

Delta emerged once more, almost seeming affronted. “That is against Artificial Intelligence protocol. The damage possibly sustained by forceful ejection to either the host or to the coding of the AI is too dangerous.”

York felt his own stomach twist at the very idea. Regular removal of Delta was already an ordeal. To have it happen without warning, and without the tedious protocol Delta had them work through each time, was unimaginable. 

“How are... Were you alright?” York pressed.

“No, York,” Carolina replied shortly. “It wasn’t alright. But... I worked through it.” She looked off, taking a breath. “Eta and Iota’s decision was... costly. And they were absorbed into the Meta. But it was a decision to save my life. And they even thought far enough ahead to put my remaining suit in armor lockdown. It saved me a second time... from the impact of the fall over the cliff when the Meta tossed me.” She looked back to York. “ _Un_ fortunately, I was still in lockdown after impact, and with more than a few injuries even _that_ measure couldn’t have prevented. Which is the way I was found a few hours later by Project Freelancer.” 

Tightly screwing his eyes closed, York stepped back, took a heralding breath. 

_Hours.  
_

It wasn’t like South, with a split second decision made out of their own hands. It wasn’t like Wash where re-entry would have been suicide. 

She could have been found. She could have been saved. 

In the time it took for him and North to reunite with Tex and hear her version of the events, Carolina was only just being found by the remnants of their program. 

His heart clenched painfully at the very thought. 

Delta appeared between the two of them, perplexed. “That would mean that the records left by Project Freelancer are falsified documents. That the information we have gathered over the past year _all_ could be falsified,” he pointed out.

“Well, would that be all _that_ surprising?” she asked, crossing her arms. Her eyes turned toward York more directly. “After all, you seemed to have a better idea of what was going on with the program’s deceit than I did.”

“No,” York sighed, nodding to Delta. “She’s right, Dee. It’s not incomprehensible to have had Freelancer lie about something. Right?”

“I suppose not,” Delta responded almost sourly.

York looked almost apologetically to Carolina. “Don’t mind him. He’s more upset that his records are wrong.”

“It _is_ true. My apologies if my aggression toward the subject feels directed at you, Agent Carolina,” Delta bowed slightly. “Though... this _does_ beg the question of our current situation. And of your current set of circumstances. How have you escaped Project Freelancer at this point?”

“Well, the answer to that is the same as to how they’ve gotten away with fudging their records,” Carolina announced. “I didn’t escape. I’m working for them.”

Delta flickered out before reappearing over York’s shoulder. They looked to each other in silence before York returned his gaze to Carolina, frowning. 

“Not going to lie, that _raises_ more questions for us than it answers,” he announced. 

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the Recovery Unit by this point?” Carolina asked.

“There’s a bunch of soldiers involved in it, maybe a third of the number involved with these Sim Wars, but enough well trained to raise the stakes for anyone like us, yeah,” York replied. “You could say we’ve had a share of run-ins.”

“We’re also aware of there being two Recovery Agents who seem to be very concentrated on specific tasks for the Unit,” Delta continued. “They do not have public data profiled beyond names.”

“Not to rile you up, Delta, but that information is also falsified,” Carolina explained. “There aren’t two. There’s _three.”_ She looked to York. “I’m Recovery Zero. I’m an off the books agent for hunting the most dangerous threats to the program -- that being, for now, the Meta.”

York stared at her, a little aghast before putting a hand to his head. “Wait, you mean to tell me after all that -- after _all this_ \-- you are willingly working for them? To _hunt Maine_ \--”

“He isn’t _Maine_ anymore, York,” Carolina responded. “And it’s not like I’ve had a choice. You were right... Freelancer is going down. They’ve done things that they can’t escape from. But I’m in too deep. I’m too involved. And for the program to get what it deserves... I’m going to end up going down with it. Unless I help stop it.”

He stared at her intently. “And what would _that_ entail? Taking them down from the inside? Using their program against them? How?”

“I’ve been looking to find the Director. He hasn’t been seen or reported his location to my knowledge since the early days after the crash,” Carolina explained. “And with the Meta getting stronger with every encounter, and the program getting more and more suspicious of everyone working under it, I’m running out of a window to be able to take care of him myself.” She shook her head, as if disappointed in her own words. “That’s why I’ve finally decided to come to you.”

York looked at her, aghast. Delta disappeared, as if backing away from the situation entirely. 

“Wait a damn minute,” he aid lowly. “Are you telling me... that in all this time... you’ve known where I was?”

Carolina stared at him for a moment, her helmet tilting a bit just before she responded, “Yes. Not exact coordinates, of course, but your movements are recognizable to someone who knows--”

“And you never once decided before now that, _just maybe,_ I deserved to know you were fucking _alive?”_ York demanded, feeling his nostrils flare. “Carolina!” 

“York, me approaching you would have brought the attention of the program to you,” she explained. “Even me doing so now is possibly doing that. But at least after now the Meta’s movements won’t be following suit. They’re far more concerned with him than they are you--”

“Timeout!” York yelled, crossing his arms together for effect. He glared at Carolina as she finally went silent. “What the fuck does the Meta have to do with my movements?”

She put her hands on her hips. “You don’t know? I had hoped you were more aware than that--”

“Been aware of _what?”_ he demanded. “Goddammit, Carolina!” Without thinking, he tore of his helmet storming closer to her, tossing the armor to the side. “Look me in the face as you say it -- you didn’t come up tot me before because _why?_ Because it was making someone _else_ easier to track? Is that what you’re saying?”

There was a defiant turn of her head, she didn’t make any motions to remove her helmet at first. Slowly, though, she reached up and did so, instead tucking her helmet beneath her arm as she looked up into York’s face. 

She looked scarred, tired, worn. But there was still so much fight in her eyes and, if possible, disappointment in him. That was enough to feel like a stab right at his heart. 

“The Meta _was_ trailing you for some time, York,” she acknowledged. “But you lost his trail a few weeks ago.”

York stared at her, searched for any remorse as he muttered, “I was live bait for you. Delta and I...”

“It isn’t that simple,” she said assuredly. 

“Well, I’m waiting to hear how it wasn’t,” he responded darkly. “Carolina... do you have any idea how fucked up this is?”

“I never said it wasn’t, York,” she bit back. 

“And your little Recovery friends and you just have a great time, yoking it up about stupid ol’ York, inches away from getting his head taken off, huh?” he sneered. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she growled. “I don’t have any association with Wash or South. They don’t even know there is another Recovery Agent--”

York froze, looking at her in astonishment. “Did... Carolina. _Wash is one of the Recovery Agents?”  
_

She blinked. “Yes.”

Stepping back, York shook his head, then turned away. His head was pounding with the new information. He ran a hand roughly through his hair. 

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, looking to Delta as the AI knowingly projected to his shoulder. “Dee, that was... that was just six months ago wasn’t it?”

“Eight, York.”

He turned on his heel looking at Carolina somewhat in horror. “North and I... we tried to get to Wash. We tried to bust him out -- Dee found him on a prison transport list and we just... Right before the crash he was so out of it and I _promised_ him I’d get him out... and then... it got so crazy! We didn’t have a choice and...” York took a breath, thought about the haunted face he had seen, the non-reaction as he tried to get the other soldier’s attention from behind a fence. “It was like... he had _nothing,_ Carolina. He just stared at us. I don’t even feel like he recognized us. And that was eight months ago? How the _fuck_ is he on the field? How is he _working_ for them--”

“Wash is responsible for recovering former Freelancer equipment and responding to distress signals,” Carolina responded. “South is responsible for a lower tier of threats to the program than I am. Wash doesn’t know about either of us. South doesn’t know about me. It’s a balance meant to make _information_ traded between us and Command feel like the ultimate resource.”

York looked at her flabbergasted. “Wash... doesn’t know about you? He doesn’t know you’re alive? You’ve never talked to him? Checked on him?”

“I’ve been busy and he’s been... he’s fine,” Carolina said firmly.

“ _Fine? Fine!?”_ York growled. He pointed at his head. “You said it yourself, two AI ejecting was _not_ a good feeling, right? How the fuck do you think Wash feels? _His AI committed suicide in his brain!_ It almost killed him!”

“It didn’t commit suicide, not entirely,” Carolina retorted. “And I’m not saying I agree with what Command did with Wash--”

“You’re just willing to go along with it, right?” York snapped.

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Carolina roared back. 

“You agree with them enough to trust them and work inside of their fucked up network,” York spat out.

“And you _weren’t_ just playing along while you and Tex plotted to sabotage the base?” she hissed. “I’m doing what I have to, York! I guess I learned how to betray someone’s trust in me from watching you--”

“ _Betray trust?”_ York repeated, shaking his head. “You think that’s what this is? That I wasn’t doing what I thought was the right thing?“

“And doing it the _Agent Texas Way_ was the only option, right?” Carolina snapped. “No other choice but to go behind my back and help out your good, old friend. Not like she’s ever shot anyone in the back in the name of the program or got anyone blown up.”

“What? You think I _chose_ her?” York demanded. He scowled at Carolina. “You still don’t know a thing about her, do you?”

Carolina narrowed her eyes. “And just _what_ is there to know, York? What could _possibly_ change my mind about _her?”_

“God, if only you knew,” York muttered.

“Knew _what_ , York!?”

York felt his teeth grit as he readied to unleash when, without warning, Delta projected between the two of them again. 

“What I believe York meant, Agent Carolina, is that there are some aspects of Agent Texas’ character which we have been exposed to as a sign of respect and trust ourselves,” he explained evenly. “And it’s something we believe would only carry that same meaning if she was given the opportunity to do the same for you.”

Carolina’s lip curled. “Oh, and I suppose _Texas_ would just be willing to do that? Tell me one of her deep dark secrets that changes _everything_ , then?”

Cooled down slightly, York relaxed his stance and managed a nod. “Actually... yeah. I think she would, Carolina.”

Staring back at them, Carolina shook her head and then looked away. “Oh, I’m _sure.”_

York glared at her, wondering what he had managed to do to get in this situation when Delta nodded to him. 

“I believe the excitement and surprise of this encounter has worked on all of our reasoning skills,” Delta chimed. “There is a lot of emotion to deal with and I know York could use some proper nourishment.”

“Really?” York asked critically.

Carolina looked over to them, a small smirk working back across her lips. “You _do_ look like crap,” she said.

“That was said with a lot of heart,” York replied sardonically. 

“Perhaps it would be best if we dropped less pleasant conversation and returned to the facts,” Delta proposed. “I know York is exceptionally pleased both at being reunited _and_ at proving my countless calculations incorrect.” He looked more directly to Carolina. “I hope seeing us again _also_ causes some pleasant thoughts for you, Carolina.”

“Yes,” she said, almost faintly. “Yes... it does, Delta.” Her eyes flickered up to York again before looking away. “I have plenty of supplies. If you want to pick what you want to eat, I’m going to report into Command for a short while. The last thing we need is for them to start getting... _concerned_ about me.”

“Yeah,” York responded, taking a deep breath. “Yeah... good idea. I guess.”

Carolina looked over him again before slowly turning and walking off, beginning to put on her helmet again as she did so.

York watched her carefully before kneeling down to grab his own helmet, looking it over. Delta appeared beside his hands. 

“You’re upset, York,” Delta observed.

“Yeah, Dee,” he said weakly. “I guess I am.”

* * *

Carolina felt the air rush through her nose. Her heart was still pounding as she thought through the countless arguments she could have -- _should_ have made -- back but instead settled on forcing her fist through the bark of a tree as she passed. 

She was prepared for him to be upset, for him to not understand. But she couldn’t have been prepared for him to _still_ be taking Tex’s side after it all. She had thought that him leaving Tex and North had been for a reason. That perhaps York was wise to the fact that he had made a mistake, that working from the outside of the program wasn’t going to get him anywhere. 

And if nothing else, she would have suspected that _Delta_ could have seen that perspective. He _was_ logic, after all.

But he seemed to be even less keen with her. 

She let out a frustrated groan once she was far enough away and held her head. “Why, I just _don’t understand,”_ she hissed to herself between clenched teeth. 

“It’s fine,” she finally argued with herself, leaning her head back and looking toward the camp where York seemed to already be lighting the fire, perhaps getting himself food like Delta suggested. “Everything... Everything is fine. He’s still here. And even if he’s angry now... he’s still more angry at Freelancer. Just like I am. He’ll know working with me... it’s the right thing to do. The only thing. He wants the Director just as badly as I do.”

Scowling slightly, she turned away. “As badly as we _all_ do.”

Taking a deep breath, Carolina moved further away before she began to turn on her line to Command.

“Hello. Command? This is Recovery Zero. Do you copy?” she asked.

There was a static pause before, almost weakly, a voice returned. “Zero? Come in, Zero. This is Command. Can you hear me?”

“I can,” Carolina responded suspiciously. “Command, is everything alright--”

“I didn’t tell you the line is secure, Recovery Zero,” Niner snapped, a little more like herself. It almost brought a smile to Carolina’s face as she waited. “You’re clear. _Where have you been?”_

“Hunting,” Carolina responded readily, looking back toward the camp. “I’ve had to stick low on the radar. Your lead was good. I don’t want to overplay my hand, though.”

“You’re sure?” Niner asked. “They seemed off pattern to me.”

“They’re exactly what I needed. Take the compliment,” Carolina replied before crossing her arms. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong?”

“With you,” Carolina reiterated. “You sound off... not yourself.”

“This line isn’t for personal problems, Recovery Zero,” Niner croaked. “And _you_ wouldn’t be concerned with it to begin with. It doesn’t concern your mission.”

“Don’t say that,” Carolina responded almost bitterly. “Look... I... I agree. I’m rethinking some things. Perhaps I’ve not been dealing with all of this the way I should have from the beginning.”

There was a hesitant pause. 

“You mean... the other Recovery Agents.”

“A lot of things,” Carolina pressed sharply. “I’m thinking about a lot of things you’ve said, Command. Especially with how I’m going to tackle my target when it comes to that. I think a _team_ is the way to go.”

“You’re joking? You’re not. I... That’s... I don’t know what to say, Zero. That’s... _great_. It’s what I’ve needed to hear. I just... wow.”

“Well, I only thought of it because of you,” Carolina repeated. “Not that I’m doing anything _too_ rash, of course.”

“Right, no, of course not. Building a team will mean getting them to trust you again after all. And we both have to... well. I guess earning that trust is going to be the hard part.”

Carolina watched as Delta projected from one spot to the other as he and York carried on by the fire, how York slumped into a seat by the fire and argued back, ran his hands through his hair, exaggeratedly waved his food around before turning from Delta and beginning to shovel food in, effectively ending whatever argument had been going on. 

“Yeah. I guess it may be,” Carolina agreed. “I’m going to retire activities for the night, Command. I’ll report in tomorrow.”

“ _Please_ do,” Niner urged. “And I’ll open the channel if I hear anything new. Over and out.”

“Over and out,” Carolina repeated.

* * *

Delta only went silent once York took off his helmet and actually forcefully shoved food in his own mouth. The buzzing and vibration of Delta’s thoughts continued to press in the back of York’s mind, but externally the AI remained silent, even though his projection remained sternly over York’s shoulder, like he was always watching the former Freelancer.

The meal didn’t last as long as York would have liked. His stomach didn’t react kindly to it, but it was enough time and space to let York feel like he could breathe and think for himself. 

Leaning forward onto his knees, York shook his head and looked tiredly to the AI. 

“We were bait, Dee,” he said, somewhat self-deprecatingly. “You know, I’ve questioned what she and I were a lot more than I’d like to say... but _this_ label never quite came up in my mind before.”

“It’s an unusual circumstance, York. And not one that _fully_ aligns with past experience with your and Agent Carolina’s shared history,” Delta agreed. “It is a low blow in that sense. But it should be noted that this manipulation of circumstances is no completely unexpected from her _other_ shared history.”

Narrowing his eyes slightly, York frowned at his friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I simply mean that it is not unlike circumstances used to her advantage within Freelancer. And that is a point that should be noted carefully before outright rejecting the current situation we are in,” Delta continued.

York frowned. “It’s not that simple. And I bet if I can get her to just _talk_ to me about _whatever_ this is, we’d see there’s more to it than us being part of a trap for Maine.”

Delta tilted his head. “ _Historically_ , just getting Agent Carolina to talk to you on these subjects has not been successful for us.”

“What? The _one_ time before the crash?” York snorted. 

“There are several instances of improper communication between the both you even prior to the crash, York. That would be why you did not immediately seek counsel with Carolina in the days leading up to Agent Texas’ plan for assault the way you did with Agent North and Theta.”

“Just _say_ what you _mean_ , Delta,” York demanded. 

The AI hesitated before shaking its head. “Before, when we were with North and Theta, you asked me for my analysis on the situation with him and Agent South. I told you I did not trust Agent South, and on _that_ basis did not agree with Agent North’s plan of action.” He met York’s eyes at last. “If I were to analyze our situation with Agent Carolina, given the data we have attained, and given our heated discussions with her so far, I would speak similarly. I do not trust Agent Carolina. And I do not agree with any course of action that would require placing faith in her currently. The potential for risk is _extremely_ high.”

On reflex, York felt his fists tighten a bit in spite of himself. He dropped them and straightened up with a heavy breath. He shook his head, not able to look back at Delta quite yet. 

“You’re... being a little harsh there, Dee. Gotta say,” he finally managed to get out. 

“Forgive me, York,” Delta recounted, “but my priorities are to ensuring our safety and survival. I cannot help but be skeptical any time information dangerously does not line up.” The AI quieted as York looked back. “ _You_ are my foremost concern, York. Not Carolina.”

“I appreciate that,” York replied with a soft sigh. “But... for now, how about you try using that big brain of yours for thinking of a good way to help _both_ of us out at the same time. I don’t think it’s impossible.”

Delta hummed with thought. “Perhaps not,” he agreed. “Even so, know that, fundamentally, I cannot compromise my priorities here. I will try to do as you say, but to some degree it does not make any logical sense.”

“People are like that, Dee,” York reasoned. “Sometimes you’ve just... gotta have faith.”

“Processing,” Delta replied. “Agent Carolina is approaching,” he then announced before disappearing. 

York leaned back, looking over his shoulder as Carolina carried herself forward, helmet on her hip. 

“That a helmet or are you just happy to see me again?” he tried, feeling the corny line heavy on his mouth before he even got it out.

“Depends. Are you still pissed and irrational?” Carolina asked, coming to the other side of the fire.

“Hey, I’ll accept _pissed_ ,” York said before pointing to his shoulder, “but at least _one_ of us here would be highly upset at the accusation of being _irrational_ about anything. And, really, it might even be both of us.” York settled his sight on Carolina, watched as she let her bangs sweep over her eyes. “I have a good argument for the fact that my being pissed was _highly_ rational given the circumstances.”

“There’s no need to try and be cute about this, York,” Carolina fired back, looking at him darkly. 

“Not trying,” he defended. “You wanted me to think you were dead for a year. _Whatever_ we were to each other... _that_ hurts. _That’s_ a little unfair, wouldn’t you say?”

“I had my reasons.”

“It sounds like you were using me in the field,” York said pointing a finger at her carefully. “In _your own words,_ actually.” He leaned his head back again. “Am I wrong? Because... God. _Please_ tell me if I’m wrong.”

Carolina bit her thumb and exhaled sharply from her nose. When her eyes flickered up to York, she didn’t have to say anything at all.

York stared at her for a moment then wiped his face harshly, looking off. “Jesus,” he whispered under his breath.

“It wasn’t you.”

He looked at her warily. “Come again?”

“It wasn’t...” she sighed. “I won’t make excuses. Yes. When I realized that the Meta could be tracked more efficiently by also keeping tabs on your patterns, I did use it to my advantage. But you weren’t... It wasn’t a plan from the beginning. I have been... tracking the Meta thinking he was after someone else first.”

“Oh, that’s comforting--”

“That _someone else_ happened to be _the Director of Project Freelancer,”_ Carolina explained. “I... I thought that the Meta and I were after the same thing at first.”

York stared at her curiously. “Why would you ever think that?”

“Because I understand it... because...” Carolina closed her eyes and shook her head. “Because Sigma... _was mine._ And everything Sigma has ever said, every plan he has ever come up with before... it makes sense to me. I understand him. I understand what he wants. He just wants to be more than some... broken piece of the Director’s.” 

There was a harsh, grinding flick of the leather of Carolina’s glove as it slipped from between her teeth. York watched her carefully, ignoring the churning of Delta at the back of his head.

“But what about Maine?”

“Maine isn’t a factor here, York.”

“To hell he isn’t!” York snapped. “That’s not how AI work. Sharing a brain with an AI, it’s... it’s a partnership. It’s an understanding. And you give as much as you take. You think Delta knew nearly as many pickup lines before he joined forces with yours truly?”

Delta flickered to York’s shoulder and gave him a questioning stare. York nodded back, causing the AI to sigh and shake his head before reciting, “On a scale of one to ten you are a nine, and I am the one you need.”

“Classic,” York nodded.

Carolina scowled. “This isn’t a stupid joke, York. And not _all_ fragments are equal, you _know_ that,” she reminded him darkly. “By the time Delta was made, he was a weaker AI than the originals like Omega or Sigma. I’m sorry, Delta.”

“I take no qualm with facts, Agent Carolina,” he assured her back. 

Her eyes met York’s once more. “Delta, Theta... maybe even Gamma. They were unique. The right amount of strength to form a base personality, but not enough independence to wear down their hosts. Your relationships are communal. But the weaker AI -- like Eta and Iota -- they never fully formed independent of each other or from me. And the stronger AI? Sigma, Omega? They were too much. They were too aware. And that hostility built until they were able to do damage right back. Fuck if I know what Omega has done since, but I’ve seen the Meta. Sigma alone had worn Maine down until he wasn’t thinking on his own anymore... With more fragments... Maine isn’t there at all.”

“Okay, fine,” York replied, gripping tightly to his knees. “But if that’s the case then what are you doing when you catch him?”

“Stop him... stop him from killing himself,” Carolina replied, looking miserable with each word. “And stop him from killing everyone who stands in his way. The only reason he’s gotten this far is because of me now. So I’ll take care of it.”

Delta and York looked curiously to each other then back to Carolina.

“Where do _we_ come in?” York demanded.

“While I tie up loose ends, I want you and Delta to go after the Director,” Carolina announced. “We still have unfinished business.”

“Wait, you want _us_ to split up?” York called out. “Carolina, we _just_ found each other again! How am I supposed to believe you’re not going to just run out of here and I won’t see you for another year or two?”

He watched, somewhat off guard as Carolina got up from her spot and crossed over to him. York instinctively leaned back away from her but stopped as her hand caught his shoulder. Instead he blinked at her in puzzlement. 

“Because I won’t be tracking you or communicating with you first,” she announced, her hands suddenly moving fast, breaking open his chest piece at the latch.

“What the--”

“You think me withholding from you was a sign of distrust, York, I can’t disagree entirely,” she explained as she pulled a few wires from the circuits. “I thought I was acting in everyone’s best interest. But perhaps I was short sighted. I can’t disagree. Though I would like to.” She leaned in some before reaching back to her own armor’s information dock.

York squinted at her. “What did you just do?”

“I took your Recovery Beacon offline,” she explained. “They didn’t tell us about them, but every Freelancer armor is fitted with a beacon that is activated when we are critically or mortally wounded. This allows the equipment to be recovered should the soldier fall. Priorities. The latent signal is a Level One for normal soldiers and personnel, but a Level Zero for those currently implanted with AI. And that latent signal is _slightly_ traceable if someone in Recovery knows who they’re looking for. It’s how I found you.”

“And you took it away?” York asked.

“Yes,” she replied. 

“But protocol states that an implanted AI would deactivate and erase itself to prevent capture from an enemy in such scenarios,” Delta spoke up from York’s shoulder.

“I guess they lied then, didn’t they?” Carolina quipped. She pulled a thumb drive from her armor slot and reached it to York. “I am only traceable by one person right now, my frequency is only there for those who know to look for it. That’s Command. And... now it’s also you. You will always be able to find where I am and you will always be able to contact me as you see fit. Because I trust you, York. Because... I need someone else. I need _you_ and I want to show you I’m _trying.”_

He watched her, studied her, as he felt his heart clenching. There was so much joy and pain and distrust she had brought him in just a short amount of time. 

But he supposed they never did things the easy way. It was just their style.

When she held out the drive, York closed his hands around her’s and pulled himself up to her. Before Delta could list a dozen reasons why it was a poor idea, he locked lips with her, pulled her flush to his chest and grinned ear to ear as she pulled right back on him. 

Carolina’s hands knotted in his hair, York could almost pretend that the past year of hell was a distant thought.

All the while, he could feel the roll of Delta’s eyes and the sigh of _Oy vey_ in the back of his mind.


	13. Recovery One IV: Manifesto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash comes across some suspicious equipment while chasing after Wyoming, but his injuries are beginning to wear him down. 
> 
> Meanwhile, Blood Gulch takes a turn for the worst when Tex and Sheila team up to deal with the Red problem once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Man, it took so long between updates, and I apologize so much for that! As much as I love this story, it’s a beast to write, with each of the three stories needing a lot of attention to detail. Especially this one, with so much of the events from Blood Gulch needing to be recreated. But without spoiling too much, I think you’re about to see that that won’t be a problem too much longer in Church and Tex’s part of the story ; ) 
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @ambi-deer-ate, @ragnorokceal, @meirelle, @freelancer-kentucky, @2ndplacenumber1, @stefantheman11, Yin, @ephemeraltea, @godoflaundrybaskets, saltsanford, and Dextra2 for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

The simple joy of reunion didn’t last too long. 

Tex rolled back onto Blue territory by the time the fireworks were all gone from the distraction provided by Caboose and Tucker, and by the time she saw them furiously trying to rub the black soot from their respective armors. 

After the firestorm they had caused at Red Base -- one soldier down with a grenade to the face, a commanding officer sniped — Tex knew that they were going to have people from Command crawling in the canyon for at least the next few days. Since it was all sim trooper casualties and no Freelancer equipment to be seen throughout the valley, though, she assumed that at the very least any danger of them coming to Blue Base was minimal.  

Still, just for safety, she had Omega monitor the calls between the Blue channel and their base carefully.

While doing as instructed, Omega had grown tediously silent since the moment Church had joined her among the Red’s hold. Though it wasn’t until she was at the Blue Base that it struck Tex as all that odd.

Watching out into the canyon a day after the last air drop had left the Red side, Tex couldn’t tolerate the behavior anymore.

“What are you up to?” she asked the AI suspiciously as she rounded to the nearest rock facing, hoping for some privacy from the gaggle of Blue idiots she had been stuck with for days. 

He didn’t answer, what she got instead was the pale while flare of another projection coming before her. Caught off guard, Tex backed up immediately. “What the fuck-- Church?”

“Uh. Boo?” he tried, shrugging a bit. “Did you miss me?”

Omega hissed jealously at last. Tex grunted. “Not in the _least.”_

“Pfft, whatever,” Church waved at her. 

“Church!” a unison of excited yells sounded from Caboose and Tucker. Like excitable school children, they raced to greet their friend. Only, Church didn’t seem to be having it. 

His gaze was completely locked on Tex, and to be honest, Tex wasn’t sure how much she liked it. 

It was both everything she expected, maybe even wanted after having to leave the broken AI behind and escape for herself, and something darker, more sinister behind it. Whether it was Church or the progressive self-loathing radiating from Omega as they looked together through Tex’s eyes at their former self, she just didn’t know.

“Even if you didn’t miss me, you _definitely_ owe me!” Church remarked with a too casual shrug. 

Tex stared at him. She could feel a twitch of anger digging itself right into her nerves. 

“ _Owe_ you?” Tex laughed. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m _square_ with you.”

Church squared himself, apparently put off by this statement. It was enough to draw the gaze of Caboose and Tucker back to him. 

“I saved you from a life of imprisonment! How the hell are you square with _me?”_ he scoffed.

Like watching a tennis match, the two Blues’ gaze moved on to Tex.

Narrowing her eyes, Tex crossed her arms. “ _Apparently_ because _I_ didn’t kill you back at Sidewinder.”

"You know, I don’t really see how _not killing somebody_ is the same thing as doing them a favor,” he snapped.

“Well, if you don’t appreciate it, I could just kill you right now,” she reminded him.

“Uh, no you can’t! I’m already dead, bitch! I guess the joke’s on you!” he said waving to his translucent form.

Tex wasn’t sure how hard a synthetic body could roll its eyes but she was starting to test the limits just before there was a frazzled yelp from the other Blues that got both her and Church to look their way. 

“Stop it! Stop fighting!” Caboose cried out. “Can’t you see that you’re tearing us apart? _What about us?”_

Turning more to Caboose and Tucker, Tex sized them up before throwing up her arms. “What _about_ you?”

“We helped you, too!” Caboose said, stomping his foot down firmly. “And what do we get? Nothing!”

Tex blinked. She honestly hadn’t even considered the other Blues in this entire equation. Why _would_ she? More people just meant more problems for keeping attention off Church as far as she was concerned. 

“Well, yeah, _but_...”

Seeing his opportunity, Church was quick to flash in front of her vision again. His cocky smirk was all but visible. “Yeah, but _nothing._ He’s got a point.”

Tex didn’t like being told what to do, but she didn’t like being in debt to others even more than that. Nothing sucked worse than owing a favor.

Thinking fast, she responded, “I _did_ help them get the flag back.” 

Getting in on the action, Tucker stepped up. “Yeah, but you were _paid_ to do that. We rescued you as a favor. We could have just let you rot in the Red Army prison, it wouldn’t have made any difference to us.”

Glaring back at him, Tex let out a low groan. Perhaps she could use this to her advantage. “Fine. I’ll stay here as long as it takes to help you guys win this... _thing._ As soon as I have, I’m outta here. What do you need me to do?”

Caught by surprise, Tucker looked around to the others before scratching at his head. “Uh, I have no idea. If you knew how to fix a tank, I would have you do that.”

Good. Simple. If there was something an AI could do instinctively it was mechanical work. “Okay,” she nodded.

The three men stared at her. 

Finally breaking the ice, Caboose held up his hands. “Wait. Y-you know how to fix Sheila?” Tex stared at him, watching as he visibly inflated. “I love you.”

Grunting, Tex looked to Church. “Where’s the tank?”

His projection pointed and Tex followed, ignoring the attentive looks she received from the hapless members of Blue Team.

Again like ducklings, the Blues seemed incessant on following her every migration. Or, rather, Caboose and Tucker stayed in line behind their supposed phantom of a leader who, in turn, was right on Tex’s heels. It was like the moment Church lost sight of her he was afraid of her disappearing entirely. 

Whether Tex found his behavior endearing or annoying was something else entirely.

Not far off into the canyon, the Blues’ tank remained overturn and busted all to hell. Tex leered at it from a distance before shaking her head and making her way over. They owed her _big time_ for bullshit like this, she decided. 

Which, while Tex very firmly remained not a fan of being in debts, she sure as hell enjoyed having them owed to her. 

As expected, the Blues remained only a few meters away. Something that only had Tex grinding her teeth. 

Apparently taking back to the leadership role, Church turned to the other Blues and began doing what Tex could only supposed he considered prepping. 

“Okay, take it easy, guys,” Church started off, a nod to Caboose in particular, though Tex was willing to bet it was more of a suspicious glance over. “When I was over at the Red Base, I saw that they’ve already got their jeep fixed. So whatever you do, don’t let ‘em see us before we get Sheila back online.”

Tex rolled her eyes and began to look for a good point of leverage on the chassis of the tank, finding it, then gripping tightly as she began to dig her boots into the canyon soil.

“Okay, okay,” Caboose remarked behind her. “Even if we get Sheila fixed… how’re we going to turn her over? I mean… it’s not as if we could just lift—“

No sooner had the words left his lips than Tex heaved and, in one steady motion, threw the tank right side up. Caboose and Tucker’s heads bobbed to follow the motion of it. 

“Oh,” Caboose mumbled. “She is a very strong lady.”

That, at least, got Tex to smirk.

Not sounding too terribly impressed himself, Church crossed his arms and looked across to the canyon. “I’m the one that’s least visible, so I’m gonna head up here to higher ground. I’ll keep an eye on the Red Base. If I see anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Great!” Caboose cheered, stepping up. “I’ll come with you!”

Church visibly stiffened. “That… _kinda_ defeats the purpose, Caboose.”

“Okay. What if I’m really… really… quiet?” Caboose stage whispered.

Rolling her eyes so hard she was in risk of losing them, Tex groaned and moved to the operational side of the tank to begin the systems check, allowing the bickering to ensue between the Blues. 

She was hardly into the first readout when she could hear Tucker shouting, “Just watch the Red Base! And tell us if you see any movement!”

Not thinking much of the statement, Tex continued looking over ‘Sheila’s’ systems, looking over to affirm the damage reported was as the read out said, and then continued on to the next systems check. It wasn’t until she heard the crunching of boots that she looked up to see Tucker rushing up to her side. 

Tucker’s head cocked to the side, his hands on his hips as he watched Tex for a second. He would have seemed defensive in pose if the man had had any formal training in his life. Which was clear to Tex he certainly hadn’t. Still, she had to admire the balls it took to come up to her of all people.

“So, I suppose if you’re helping us… you’re not as mean as I thought,” Tucker announced like it was some grand observation.

Tex could only guess where his assumptions and defensiveness came from. She lowered her hands from the tank and looked at Tucker squarely. “I wouldn’t say I’m mean,” she argued. “I just get hired to do mean things.”

He pointed a finger at her. “Yeah, but you like it.”

Tex couldn’t help but give a toothy grin. “Well, I think it’s important to enjoy what you do.”

Apparently enjoying this volley, Tucker put a hand to the chin of his helmet and looked out toward where Caboose was standing in the canyon. “So, let’s say I paid you to kill Caboose,” he hummed out as Tex followed his gaze. “You would still do it, right? Even though you’re supposed to be helping us?”

One thought toward Caboose’s days-old comments, Tex cracked her knuckles. “Is this a hypothetical discussion, or should we start talking numbers?”

When she looked back to Tucker, she found him stiff and, imaginably, paled. “Yeah, I don’t wanna talk about this anymore,” he mumbled.

There was a frustrated, loud, echoing noise from above their heads and immediately Tex and Tucker both looked up to the cliff where Church was peering over to glare down at them. 

“HEY! TUCKER!” he yelled, so much for keeping attention from the Reds.

Tucker’s body relaxed and he turned himself fully toward Church. “ _What!?_ ” 

“What the hell is my body still doing up here?” he screeched back.

Tex turned to look at Tucker carefully. 

“That’s part of being dead, Church!” the aqua armored sim trooper called back. “Your body doesn’t really move around much anymore! Maybe you haven’t fully grasped the concept yet.”

“Alright, well let me rephrase that then: _Why in the hell haven’t you buried my body yet?”_

“Buried!?” Tucker snorted. “With what? All we have are pistols and rifles. What do you want me to do? _Shoot_ you a grave?”

Animatedly, Church threw his arms to the air. “Well, then, how about shipping me back home? You know, let the loved ones pay a little respect!”

Tucker looked to Tex, then back up to Church. “Well, Church, here’s your girlfriend. Tex! As one of Church’s loved ones, would you like to pay your respects?”

Having long lost her amusement with the whole situation, Tex turned back to the tank and began pulling out the damaged metal framing. 

“That was a stirring eulogy,” Tucker yoked it up. “Rest in peace, good buddy!”

“TUCKER! Get the fuck up here!”

Letting out a long sigh, Tucker shook his head. “So much for not being seen,” he grunted before heading up to the cliff.

“Oh! Oh! Me too! Me too!” Caboose shouted excitedly as he followed.

Tex shook her head. “Fucking finally,” she gritted out  before opening the command dock. “Alright, FILSS, let’s get some answers that those idiots can’t give me.”

* * *

If he had nothing else in the world going for him, Washington would at least still have his iron clad determination and anger. Hours into the drive, his head growing clouded and dizzy with the pain from his shoulder blade, he kept his eyes glued on the roads ahead and continued to peddle the gas for the mongoose. 

With an exasperated breath, seeing on the readout of the vehicle that he was miles and miles from the Battle Creek bases, Wash finally steered himself toward the cover of some foilage, nearly knocking himself forward with the momentum as he did so. 

Gripping the handle bars of the stopped mongoose, Washington rested his forehead against the bar for a few moments, taking collective breaths. 

He was at a far enough radius that it was unlikely that the Recovery Unit’s forces would be on his trail during his short break. And even if he wasn’t, his arm and back wasn’t about to let him get much further without addressing his injuries. 

“Alright, Wash,” he muttered to himself, sitting up enough that he could lean his head back and look toward the never changing skies. “Remember all that medical training you weren’t paying attention to? It’s time to use some of it.” 

Reaching up to his helmet, Wash hesitantly pulled off the layers of his suit, frowning slightly at the pinpointed pain in his back’s muscles. 

“... hopefully,” he amended as he tried desperately to collect as much knowledge as he could from years-old basic training.

With his chest piece disassembled, he took a better look at the back of his suit. He concentrated on the damaged shoulder piece, seeing clearly where the sim trooper’s bullet had buried itself, and feeling a great deal of relief when, with some picking, he was able to touch the bullet  within it. 

“Alright, this might not be so bad,” he sighed with relief, beginning to undo the undersuit. “Just -- _ow!_ ” he stopped, using the added flexibility to touch at his warm, sticky shoulder. He pulled back, looking to his bloodied gloves before grunting. “Nevermind. Shrapnel must be in there. Great. My own suit turned against me. Typical.”

He reached toward the back of the mongoose, grabbing the standard first aid kit with the bare minimum materials that came with all of their equipment. Using his teeth, he ripped out a trip of gauze. 

The shot was in an awkward position to treat, especially for one person. 

Sighing, he looked toward the horizon, trying to estimate how many more miles he could make it before needing another stop with his shoddy self-treatment. 

“It’s too much to hope that there’d be a medic somewhere around these sim trooper bases,” he muttered. “Command almost never sends out those.”

* * *

The Blusers all gathered on the cliff, continuing their usual nonsense with Church in the lead, irate about disrespect for the dead and what not. Shit that probably should have mattered more but, given her knowledge on the subject, Tex was _more_ than aware of how inconsequential it all was. 

Much like these little Red and Blue wars themselves. 

Her capacity to care about the situations was nearly nonexistent as was. 

But seeing access to FILSS and the fact that a smart tank was made available to these deplorable soldiers gave Tex her own idea of what was going on with Blue Base and the secret that was the Alpha.

Omega continued to monitoring radios for her, giving her more than enough time to concentrate on seeing an old friend again.

“Hey there, FILSS,” Tex said, accessing the port. 

“Greetings. This is the M808B Main Battle-- I am sorry. Did you call me FILSS?”

“Yes, I’m a Freelancer,” Tex explained, crouching closer to the speaker. “I’m going to need you to give me a more thorough--”

“I apologize. But I am no longer addressed as FILSS,” the tank’s AI continued on. “It has been requested by the Director himself that I respond instead to the name... Sheila.”

“Sheila?” Tex asked, scratching at her helmet only to clench her jaw. “Wait a second -- did you say _the Director?_ What did he tell you--”

“Yes. Of course. The Director -- he is the current commander of the Blue Team after the passing of his captain. He is, however, not a captain himself. How very odd. The Director only being a private.”

Tex narrowed her eyes, looking off. “Church is _not_ the Director. He’s...”

“I am sorry... did you say that Private Church is _not_ the Director? Should I not be accepting his orders--”

“No, no, ignore me, FILSS,” Tex sighed. “I was... just thinking out loud.”

“It is now Sheila--”

“Yes. I got that, my bad. I won’t mix it up again, promise,” Tex responded as she sat back on her haunches. “Nevermind all that now, though. I’m going to need you to tell me what exactly your orders were _before_ you were sent to this simulation base. It’s important. Can you report back to Command?”

“Oh, no. That would require a radio clearance that is not built into this standard of equipment,” Sheila explained. “My orders are specifically to protect the Blue Base from invasion by _any_ forces.”

“Any forces? Not just the opposing Sim Troopers then?” Tex asked. “But if, say, unauthorized, non-Freelancer personnel were to make their way to this canyon, you would...”

“In that scenario, based on any attenuating factors, I must decide if it is best to attack opposing forces, or to destroy the bases. Whichever alternative best suits the objective of keeping the autonomy of the Director.”

“Who is... Church,” Tex reluctantly repeated. 

“That is correct,” she said agreeably. “My current objective, once online, is to finish protecting the Blue Team from its last invading attack. That would be the Red Team.”

“And if not... termination protocol.”

“That is correct.”

Tex groaned, hanging her head. “Well, crap. If I wasn’t going to have to kick some Red ass before, I _definitely_ have to now.”

Before she could hear Sheila’s full reply, Tex went into a full body flinch, hunkering down and gritting her teeth as Omega split through her with an erupting force. He was _pissed.  
_

 _“Goddammit,_ Omega. What the fuck is up with you?” She demanded just before giving her radio attention for the first time since she begun working on Sheila.

And, of course, it was her Blue Idiots at it again. 

“You’re _switching sides?”_ Tucker demanded, voice obviously upset. 

“Sorry, guys,” Church responded, sounding only partially genuine. “I don’t have much choice.”

“Church... uh... wh-what happens when the Reds come out here... to stop Tex. And then they come... also with guns... and they find us?” Caboose asked stutteringly. 

“I’ll try to help you as best I can. Good luck, guys.”

Tex stiffened, straightening up into a standing position once more. She leered at the cliff, feeling that clenching, chest tearing anger that blurred the line between her own and Omega’s. 

Mostly, her thoughts filled with _Church, you motherfucker._

“Does this mean I should try to kill Church now?” Caboose asked.

“I tell you what,” Tucker growled back, “Kill me. I promise not to come back.”

Angrily, Tex turned back to the tank. “Sheila. Tell you what. I’m going to get you back online and we’ll kill two birds with one stone. Literally. You get to stop invading forces and rescue Blue Team. _And_ we get to destroy Church for good. That’s satisfactory on many levels. Especially for me.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful -- to hit all objectives at once,” Sheila responded.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Tex grumbled as she returned to the more damaged areas of the tank and began to pull all the stops. 

She focused so much on the construction, it was somewhat amazing she even picked up on the Blues’ next outburst. 

“Hey! _LOOK AT THIS!”_ Caboose cried out.

“No,” Tucker hissed.

“They have _a girl!_ They have a girl!”

Tex glared over her shoulder toward the cliff for only a moment before returning her attention properly to the tank. She was very near the end of her repairs. 

“A what?” Tucker demanded.

“A girl a girl! Look! _Pink_ armor!”

Tucker let out an aggravated groan. “Oh man. How come they get a girl?”

Unable to take much more of the stupidity, Tex stood up, hands on her hips, and snapped at them, “You guys realized that I’m a chick, right? And that I’m standing _right here?”_

Always too fast for his own good, Tucker leaned over the cliff to look back at Tex. “Yeah, Tex, but when we say a girl, we mean a girl-girl.”

“And what the hell does _that_ mean!?” she roared.

Immediately, Tucker and Caboose disappeared from view together. “NOTHING!”

Shaking her head, Tex crouched by the tank and continued furiously working on the last leg of her repairs. 

And _still_ incapable of understanding their radios were on, Tucker muttered, “Wait a second. If Tex heard that... do you think she heard Church’s secret plan to warn the Reds about her?”

“Yes,” Tex grouched under her breath.

“I don’t know... but I think I know how to find out,” Caboose announced before rushing to the edge of the cliff again. “Hey! Tex! Uh... did you hear Church’s _secret plan_ to ... tell the Reds that you were... fixing the tank?”

Hardly able to believe her own ears, Tex turned and looked at Caboose. She looked him up and down, wondered how she had ever been initially offended by the idiot to begin with, then promptly turned back to Sheila.

“I don’t think she knows,” Caboose said to Tucker, over the radio _again._ “Unless she can _read minds_.... She can’t read minds. Can she? ... Can you hear what I’m thinking?”

“Shut up,” Tucker groaned, making Tex sigh with relief at having _finally_ been freed from the droning of Caboose on the radio. “Aw, crap. Caboose! She’s almost done fixing Sheila. I better radio Church and tell him what’s going on.”

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Tucker, please! Please! Tucker! Tucker! Tucker! Tucker, please! Tuck--”

“Yes. You can be the one who radios Church,” Tucker said, sounding as worn down as Tex felt. 

“Thanks, man,” Caboose preened. “Calling Church. Come in, Church. This is your close, personal friend--”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Tex snapped, reaching up and turning off her radio. She almost _immediately_ felt soothing relief rush over her. Enough so that she threw her head back and sighed. “I’ll have to stop doing things just to spite Omega more often. Not having you screwing around because you’re pissed at something in particular is amazing.”

Omega didn’t respond, but he rarely did when there wasn’t something to concentrate his rage on. That was enough for Tex for the time being. 

She tightened the last screw and moved immediately to the hatch of the tank, throwing it open and leaping up inside as Sheila began to light up.

“Thank you for activating the M808B Main Battle Tank,” Sheila recited. 

“Yeah, I”m really excited, too, Sheila, let’s get on the road,” Tex replied, pulling the hatch down. “I’m ready to be done with all of these idiots.”

* * *

The terrain had already become heated, more desolate the further he went on Wyoming and the sim troopers’ trail. He’d thought far enough ahead to stop just before the treeline disappeared into rocky crevices and sandy beaches to gather some meager supplies of food and water. 

The tenderness in his arm and back remained, making it rather difficult to throw his armor back on when it was all said and done, but he pushed forward all the same. 

He was taking down Wyoming and that was that.

Still, it was incredibly surprising to have been led to what _seemed_ to be an abandoned power and munitions plant in the middle of the desert.

Wash stood by his ride, looking over the decrepit building, and took a long breath. His head bobbed slightly as he followed the very, _very_ slow turning of the bladed fan just outside of the entrance. 

“Well, I’m glad to see Project Freelancer doesn’t waste millions of dollars in facilities. At _all,”_ he griped to no one, following the fan’s turn one more time. “Not like it could have gone to my paycheck or anything.”

Shaking his head, Wash put himself on task, looking over the terrain. He was expecting to find subtle clues -- fresh markings from rushing by equipment, tracks either from feet or vehicles that would have to indicate recent activity. He was ready for hours of searching.

Which made it only mildly disappointing when a blink or two later he found his gaze captured by the very, very apparent presence of two brand new vehicles -- a motorcycle and a jeep. 

“Alright, so as expected, subtle isn’t in Wyoming’s dictionary. Good to know,” Wash grunted before carrying on toward the shadows and corners of the structure. 

With an injury, a frontal assault on multiple targets wasn’t going to be very wise. 

While sneaking from one end of the beach to the other, Wash was already taking note of the various entrances to the power plant -- there was not much in the way of blockade but what the structure lacked in proper walls and doors it made up for in turrets. 

“That’s... counter intuitive,” Wash muttered to himself. “Hope whoever Freelancer paid to build these shitty places didn’t ask for commission.”

By the time he passed the second wall, Wash was all too aware of the fact that the entire base seemed to be not only in disrepair but completely empty of his targets. Which made it double abandoned... or something. 

In aggravation, Wash straightened out of his crouching prowl, reaching for his injured shoulder as he carried on through. 

“They were definitely here, so at least there’s that,” Wash muttered to himself, stopping short of the control room for the plant. “Hopefully they left something that can tell me where they were heading...”

Opening the door, Wash couldn’t help but blink at the disarray of the equipment and control panels. Entire models were ripped from the walls, circuits exposed and sparking. 

“This isn’t a _smash_ job,” he decided, tracing his hands over one of the closer units. “They were _very_ particular about what they took from these... but _why?_ What was Wyoming looking for? Or...” He looked across the room, surprised slightly to see an entire screen and jury rigged computer cut off from all the others. “I guess the better question is, _what were they building?”  
_

Tucking his rifle away, Wash neared the system, looking at the wide screen -- it was blank, old looking. It couldn’t have had much long term use so _whatever_ it was that Wyoming was building was for something specific, something quick.

“But what...” he muttered, stopping just before ducking to look underneath. 

He didn’t recognize everything immediately, but Wash _did_ recognize the long tubing and the dark purple device it was connected to. 

“What the... Why does Wyoming have a memory unit?” he asked himself, crouching beside it. He poked at the device cautiously, then looked beyond it to see yet another. “Let alone _two..._ Unless.”

Standing up, Wash gave the entire device another look over. His eyes widened. “This... this runs AI simulations. Like they did on the _Mother of Invention_ to the Alpha. Just... smaller scale. But _why?_ What would be the point--” 

Grabbing one of the memory units, Wash unhooked it and looked around the room a last time. 

“Something bigger is going on here. And I’m going to have to figure out _what.”_

* * *

With Sheila fully functioning, taking Blood Gulch by storm was hardly going to be much of a challenge.

From the moment she took control of the tank, Tex’s eyes had settled on the Red Base and her trigger finger was more than happy to oblige in a little payback for the aggravation of being put in captivity for however short of a time as it might have been.

Not that a trigger finger was needed all that much.

Seemingly a bit vengeful herself, Sheila’s automatic targeting system went to town on Red Base’s facilities and, perhaps even more viciously, their jeep.

“What did jeeps ever do to you, Sheila?” Tex joked.

“I am _not_ a fan of that vehicle,” Sheila answered almost cryptically before firing again, blasting the vehicle strongly enough to flip it through the air and landing it squarely on Red Base’s roof. 

“Apparently not,” Tex responded, leaning back more comfortably in her seat. 

“Firing Main Canon,” Sheila continued in a flat, droning tone as she continued to pummel Red Base. 

By her own estimates, Tex figured it would be only a short few hours before they had completely wiped the floor with Red Team and ended whatever nonsense had been ongoing in the canyon Church had been stuffed in. It was somewhat reassuring that it could be over so soon.

And yet, there was something troubling just beneath that surface -- the question of just _what_ she could plan to do from there. How she could convince Church to leave once everything in the canyon was more than assuredly gone.

It was the sort of question she was giving thought to when she noticed an arcing, blue light pass overhead from Red Base.

Sheila continued to fire and Tex looked instead to the arc, watching the blue light with apprehension -- it was far and above from Sheila’s sensors.

“Omega,” she called out, glaring at it. “Give me a readout and... Omega?” 

The AI did not respond. Not only did it not respond but Tex realized that, perhaps for the first time in years, her head felt completely clear -- completely her _own._

The fleeting relief of being rid of the aggressive AI grew in Tex just before the blue, fuzzy light ended its flight, barreling pretty immediately through the grating of the tank and sticking to Tex’s chest.

She watched the grenade frizzle expectantly.

“Aw, _CRAP!”_ she hissed.

From across Red Base’s domain, she could hear the joyous screaming echoing across the canyon, “Hell yeah! Three points, you dirty whore!”

And before she could even process what was said, the grenade blew.

The light was intense, but more than that was the ratcheting of the blast. Her body, being synthetic, was of course more durable than that of a normal human but that did little to lessen the impact of the bomb. She could _feel_ the pull of her body into several different directions at once, mostly flinging out of the tank itself.

But it all happened so fast, and for all its restrictions her armor maintained its strength even as it bent and folded her through the hatch and onto the grounds of the canyon.

Her systems were failing -- the readout of her HUD flickering with static as it struggled to give her an analysis of her droid body.

She didn’t need them. She knew it was all but killing over before her -- leaving her an AI without a home, just like someone else she knew.

“Two AI taken out by the same tank,” she muttered to herself. “How ironic.”

She watched the systems go down one by one, only mildly observing that another voice was nearing her, screaming across the canyon “¡Dios mío, _NOOOOO!_ ¡Tejas! _¡TEJAAAASS!”_

Tex blinked a few times tiredly. “Is that... _Spanish?”_

Her helmet’s HUD flickered on, blearing red, but was able to show her a kneeling form beside her. Even with their armor it was evident how concerned the other was.

 _Something_ about that made Tex feel almost moved.

“Church?” she whispered, feeling how loose her body’s jaw truly was. “Is that you?”

He didn’t need to answer, but he plopped down beside her all the same, leaning closer, quivering slightly.

It was the sort of concern and care that would have never been touching if her onboard passenger was still around. And that was enough to make Tex’s already failing body seize with fear. _Just what would become of an AI that angry?_

“It-it’s gone, Church,” she coughed. “The AI. It’s gone...”

He nodded as if he understood, and for the first time since she could remember, Tex felt some relief. She felt some trust in him. She watched as the HUD flickered off.

“Thank you,” she managed just before her audio cut in a sputtering _Heh-bleah_ that was far less than a graceful note to end on.

She remained in the body, feeling the claustrophobic immobility of her form before fading out. 

There was an AI to track.

* * *

Taking one of the abandoned vehicles had given Wash more than enough fuel to continue after Wyoming, but the few days of travel had already worn his medical supplies thinner than they were to begin with. 

With the last strip of gauze gone, he was relying on his combat knife to strip fabric from the tent supplies for new bandages, and what was already a tender wound was becoming nasty and inflamed. 

“If I don’t want this to turn septic, I’m going to need new supplies,” he decided, somewhat in frustration as he ripped what was left of the stringing cloth with his teeth. 

Searching through the remains of the kit, Wash knocked aside the used up adhesive foam and shook his head. He was going to have to tie the strips off to keep them in place. 

When done, he glanced toward the motorcycle and neared it, eyeing the radio. “If Wyoming hasn’t been caught yet, it has to be because he or that AI one know enough to cut the radio signal, or to jam the out signal one,” he hummed to himself before sitting on the cycle. “But he also would need to keep track of Command’s movements to make these grandiose plans of his and know where to get equipment.”

Reaching forward with his good arm, Wash played with the frequency. He tried to not feel too impressed when the radio worked. 

“Not too bad for just a sharpshooter,” he muttered before honing in on the nearest and clearest Command message. 

“Medical Officer dispatch at base sight Blood Gulch. Primary contact: Blood Gulch Outpost One-Alpha. We need full report on the Blue Team, including analysis on all operations.”

Wash hummed, feeling his shoulder. “Medical dispatch, hm? That’s exactly what I need.”

He started up the motorcycle, only to partially catch the response. 

“Yeah, okay, but how do I know which one’s the Blue Team?”

“Are you being serious right now?”

Wash’s eyes glanced from his map readout to the radio somewhat curiously before concentrating on his distance from this so-called Blood Gulch and the medical dispatch’s coordinates. 

“I’m just trying to not make assumptions based off the color of someone’s armor!”

“Then just follow the beacon signal we gave you.”

“Oh, alright then! Thank--”

When the radio cut off, Wash began to wonder if perhaps he had done it himself but quickly saw that it must have been Command that ended it. Which was  humorous but also probably a touch of foreshadowing he suspected. 

It didn’t take too long to see the purple figure in the horizon. While the man was walking fairly fast, his form was _far_ from anything adherent to being a soldier. 

And likewise, the guy didn’t seem on guard at all when Wash pulled out in front of him and came to a stop.

“Oh! Hey there!” the guy called out.

“Hello,” Wash responded, looking to his helmet’s personnel readout. “You’re... Medical Officer DuFresne?” 

“Wow! Yes, one and the same!” the medic replied, far too chipper for Wash’s tastes. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”

“No, but I’m from Command,” Wash explained.

“Oh, that’s funny. They just dropped me off. But no worries, I’m on my way to Blood Gulch right now! I should have everyone expected and patched up pretty soon. Even sooner if you wanted to give me a lift on your motorcycle.”

“It’s for one person,” Wash said sternly.

“Well, only if you’re against sharing--”

“This isn’t about sharing,” Wash found himself snapping as he leaned forward. Almost immediately, his muscles tugged back against the motion. He grunted and felt for his shoulder. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I’ve been on a separate mission for Command and received an injury. I’ve given it some field dressing, but I could use more proper medical help before continuing on. And you seem to be in a unique position to give that to me.”

The purple armored man looked at him for a moment before tilting his head. “I don’t know... Command seemed _pretty_ firm about me getting to Blood Gulch. And I’d hate to run out of supplies once I got there because I was treating someone else...”

“What?” Wash cried out. “Aren’t you under an oath to serve all those in need?”

“Yeah, that’s true. I _guess_ I can look at your injury if you really need me to,” DuFresne said, rubbing at his neck.

“Well, believe me. I need you to. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this dumb conversation,” Wash grunted back. 

“Okay, yeah. Sorry for being snippy,” the medic said, stepping over to Wash’s side. “I guess I’m just nervous because of the signal they have me following. I’ve never really seen Recovery Beacons before. And Level Zero sounds so serious--”

Wash was reaching to unhook his chest piece when he paused. His head lifted up to stare at the medic directly. His heart began pounding. 

“Did you just say... _Level Zero?”_


	14. Recovery Two IV: Teamwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North and South's reunion gets some new directions due to South's new business partners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Two updates in a week! Man, that’s super good for me with this fic’s updates lately it seems haha. I’m so sorry about that, guys. I absolutely love this fic and this world but this one tends to be a beast to type since it’s more like writing three fics at the same time that just happen to take place in the same universe. But, hey, that’s what I’ve loved about the shared universes in my favorite comics for years now and, like those comics, it doesn’t take long for everything to come and collide with everyone as tightly weaved as they are. I have a lot of fun with the Dakota Twin chapters, but I really hope this one doesn’t suffer too much from being the chapter right before Everything Goes Down. Suffice it to say, Part V is going to be quite... full : ) 
> 
> Special thanks to @jollysansttheskeleto, @secretlystephaniebrown, Dextra2, @ephemeraltea, MeteorAtDusk, and Yin for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

The air was tense. 

In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but think _how could it not be?_ She was finally standing in front of her brother. Standing _over_ him. 

After a year of not having seen him at all, after _years_ of being at each other’s throats for one reason or another due to the stupid goddamn program, North wasn’t far off as some intangible being, he wasn’t the sibling with the upper hand and the charming disposition with all of Freelancer at his back.

He was her brother. Crumpled at her feet. 

At her mercy. 

And he looked terrible.

Shaking her head, South kicked her brother’s shoulder, leading to the soldier rolling onto his back limply. His head jostled before settling away from her. He’d taken decent care of his supplies -- it was still worn, more than a few chips in the paint, a dent from South’s own attack. But it was more his physique that was surprising.

North had always been the size of a tree. Even if South was no small fry herself, she’d always been cast in the shadow of her bigger brother.

Standing over him, South couldn’t help but think North looked so much... _smaller_ than she ever remembered him being. 

“You’ve gone and dug yourself a _real_ hole this time, brother,” she said darkly. 

There was no response, as to be expected.

“Really, North, you could have had it all. You could have had _anything,”_ she said angrily. “You were one of the program’s special ones. You and your fucking AI. Damn thing. But you couldn’t give it up even for a few days -- what _sense_ does that make? You would have been implanted again. They just needed to figure out what the fuck was wrong with Wash’s surgery.”

She felt her nose curl at the thought. 

Squatting down beside his prone form, South leaned over North. She glared into the opaque visor, feeling the anger from the years surfacing all over again. It burned in her chest, ate at her. 

“What the hell did you know about this program that we didn’t, huh?” she hissed at him. “What the _hell_ did you think you understood better than the rest of us.”

Her fist clenched and she lowered her head. Her mouth felt dry.

“What couldn’t you tell me?” she demanded. “Mister Walking Tall -- you always acted like the perfect twin. You always said it was _me_ not trying things out. That I was the one who didn’t believe in us enough. That _I_ needed to tell _you_ more.”

She looked at him, stared straight into his motionless head until she could almost swear she could see through him. Her fist came down on her plated knee.

“Fuck that, you asshole! You never told me _anything_  about yourself!” she spat at him. “You never came and cried on my shoulder. You never told me about your friends or your training drills. _I fucking found out about your implantation from York._ How the fuck do you think _that_ feels? To always think you’re the one not sharing enough and then to wake up one day and realize you don’t know _shit_ about your brother?”

Furiously exhaling from her nose, South finally dropped to the ground, pounding her fists by her side. 

“Fuck you, North. Fuck you and fuck your stupid friends,” she growled, the bite slowly leaving her words. “You never talked to me. Not like you used to. So high and mighty -- you were just like the rest of the program... just like everyone else... People pleasers. All of you.”

She huffed, looking up at him again. She shook her head. “Maybe that’s why you shined on that stupid fucker York so much, huh? Two idiots dumb enough to care about the rest of us.” She leaned back, sitting on the pavement. “I didn’t _need_ to be cared about. I didn’t want it.”

South paused for a response she _knew_ wouldn’t come. North laid there like a dead man. 

Huffing, South kicked out one of her legs and leaned her elbow on the other’s knee. Her eyes wandered away toward the streets. The city North had found sanctuary in was a _real_ piece of shit. That much was for sure. 

“I _really_ knocked your lights out then, huh?” she snorted some, pushing her extended foot against North’s helmet and watching the complete lack of resistance. “What a glass jaw, North. I’d be _so_ embarrassed if I were you.”

She waited then shook her head again. “You know, really, _York_ is the one that I should punch that hard. Fucker. I still feel it in my jaw,” she said, rubbing at her chin. “By the way, waking up to a kidnapping is _no_ way to fond with a sibling.”

In the absence of a response, South tore off her own helmet, looked inside of it. Her eyes narrowed. 

“You know,” she hissed, looking back at him before tossing her helmet at his chest. “Fucking _shooting my radio_ all the goddamn time isn’t bonding either!” She leaned back. “The more I think about it, North... _You suck._ How do you like that? Asshole.”

With her helmet off, she rubbed at her sore jaw more accurately. The harshness of her glove felt so much more keen on her flesh, just like her jaw’s ache became all the more accented with the movement. 

“If I had half a mind, North,” she sighed, “I would take you back to Freelancer. Let them deal with you. Rip that little shit chip out of your head and bring you back to the sane.”  Her eyes narrowed. “Lucky you. Something _else_ came my way since last time--”

The flicker lasted only a second. Really, it was a flash that disappeared again. 

But South knew that color -- or rather those _colors._ Her body straightened and she glared at the shoulder where it had appeared but for a brief moment.

She’d have recognized Theta anywhere. 

 _“You,”_ she said thickly.

When Theta didn’t appear, South slammed her fist on the ground. “Hey! I _saw_ you. Get out here or I’ll open up North’s helmet and pry you out myself.”

“No! Please don’t!” 

Her eyes stayed focused as the bright flicker of blue and red appeared before her. A small, nervous figure in armor almost identical to her and North’s own appeared. He was trembling, his fingers twisting together. 

“Pulling me won’t help anything,” Theta reminded her weakly. “And it could hurt North.”

“Almost like shoving a whiny baby in his brain could hurt him,” South snapped.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, kicking his foot out. “I’ve never meant to hurt anyone.”

“Yeah, well, if you’re worried about hurting people you might be in the wrong crowd,” South snorted. “Do you know how many people North has taken down alone? A _lot,_ kid. He’s a sniper. With or without you.”

Theta looked at her. “I know that.”

“Do you respect what we are?” she asked. “ _Who_  we are? Because who we are... it ain’t pretty.”

“Good people can do bad things,” Theta responded. 

“Bad people can do bad things, too,” South responded. “Bad people can also do good things. See. Life gets tricky when you try fitting everyone into nonsense parables, doesn’t it?”

Theta looked down. “North told me that. It made sense.”

“North’s good at flattening things to a kiddie level,” South replied sharply. “But he fails to remember what _I_ already know. You can’t stay a kid forever. I sure as hell didn’t. And neither did he.” She nodded to Theta. “And neither will you.”

“Huh?” Theta asked. “What do you mean?” 

“You AI build yourself based on whose brain you were copied from,” South reminded Theta, looking at him with expectation. “But in this program, you were used for more than that. Because you’re fragments, because of _whatever_ it is that the Director and Counselor wanted from us, you get plugged into people’s heads,” she tapped on her own forehead. “And because of that, you fragments grow more and more different from each other. Even though you’re all just fragments of the same AI. You take cues from whoever you’re attached to. It’s why they pair you with certain people. Right?”

Theta shrugged, looking more and more on edge.

“Well, a while back that got me thinking... maybe if the whole reason everyone around me lost their goddamn minds at around the same time was because this wasn’t just a one-way street.” South pointed heavily to North. “You kept him up at night. You made him more and more prone to acting on protective instincts. You increased his performance and attention to detail in the field. Well... just how then could we not assume you were also responsible for changing shit up _here_ ,” she leaned forward and knocked her knuckles against North’s visor, eliciting a groan from him, “too?”

The AI seemed almost dumbfounded. “But... I... I don’t know... I never _meant_ to change anything.”

“Do you think you’d be forced to grow up if you weren’t stuck in North’s head?” she wondered out loud. “That’s _my_ real question right now. Just _who_ would Theta be if it weren’t for North.”

Theta’s head turned more toward her. His shoulders raised almost defensively of North, but he didn’t near South at all. “Don’t you mean... Who would _South_ be if it weren’t for North?”

South glared at him before leaning toward him. 

Theta squeaked and disappeared entirely. “That’s what I thought,” South grouched before leaning back into position. 

She glared at North. “Hurry and wake up, asshole,” she demanded. “We’ve got a _lot_ to get through. And I don’t have any more patience to do it.”

* * *

In those moments, North wasn’t entirely sure what was up or down. His head was throbbing and he felt more than a few pulses of pain around his neck -- a kink maybe. 

The one cementing fact was that he could see even without vision the bouncing form or Theta -- all shine, blue and red -- before his eyes. 

His nervousness and obvious upset was radiating from him as he blurred more and more of North’s waking vision.

_North! North! You have to wake up North!_

“Theta...” North grunted under his breath, beginning to shift his head from side to side. 

 _North! It’s her! Remember? She knocked you out, North! I’m so worried North. She’s not being very nice. I don’t think she likes me. North! Please. Please wake up, North! I don’t like being alone with her. She’s kinda angry. And_ not _in a good way._

Groaning, North began to push against the ground and try to right himself. “Ugh, buddy. You’ve _got_ to slow down,” he muttered. “I don’t understand what you’re--”

When his forehead connected with the barrel of a gun, North suddenly felt reality rushing back. He very much remembered _exactly_ what had happened before the lights went out.

“Oh-ho-ho,” he wheezed. His hand already began dancing across the pavement toward his back. “ _Right.”_

“Does this look like amateur hour here, North?” South’s voice called from above him. “Don’t even bother reaching for your handgun. What do you think I’m pointing at you?”

“I never figured you the type for the Charon forty-five,” he chuckled. 

“Don’t irritate me by playing dumb and going for small talk, okay, brother?” South hissed. “I have had a very, _very_ bad run of bad days lately.”

“Aw, surely not all week, North replied, daring to tilt his head back enough to look at her.

South’s helmet was off, her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Try a year’s worth,” she snapped.

“You’ve never looked better,” North joked.

“You look like dogshit,” she informed him.

Theta appeared over North’s shoulder, though he quickly disappeared behind it. “That’s rude,” he called out in barely faked bravery.

South’s eyes for just a minute flickered to Theta before settling back on North. Her nose curled with her snarl. “Shut your mouth, you thirty-two bit nightmare.”

“Yikes,” Theta mumbled.

North glared at his sister. “Look. Don’t be rude to him, alright? You’ve got me. He’s not the one that will be causing you any trouble. No need to pick unnecessary fights.”

With a small hitch of her breath, South adjusted her grip on her gun and leered over the sight at North. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me right now, North?”

“I’ve never been more serious,” North countered. “I don’t want you two starting trouble with each other and hurting feelings. It’s the exact opposite of what I want.”

“Sorry, North,” Theta replied, kicking at the air miserably.

“What you _want?”_ South repeated in a mostly baffled tone. “What the fuck-- _First_ off, North: fuck off. This isn’t about you anymore, alright? This isn’t the North show. I don’t give a damn about your excuses and whatever the fuck with this AI and that bullshit you all caused on the _Mother of Invention_. This is _strictly_ personal vendetta, family cleansing -- all that horse shit. Don’t get too confused on the matter. 

“Secondly, _I can’t hurt its feelings, North,”_ she growled. “It’s an AI. Emphasis on _A for artificial._ Alright? It has _simulations_ of feelings. And you may get feelings _for_ it. But let’s not confuse that line any more than you fuckers already have.”

Narrowing his eyes, North straightened, looking past the barrel of his sister’s weapon directly at her. “That’s not true,” he responded darkly. “These AI are based off a human brain--”

“No, North, they’re _fragments,”_ South snapped. “And yours has obviously been hooked in too long. You’re playing along with their little fantasies of grandeur. I’m here to put an end to it.”

“If you’re here to put an end to Theta, South, you’re here to put an end to me, too,” North responded without hesitation. He leaned forward, pressing his helmet right to the tip of her gun. “And if that’s the case then I say we stop dancing around it. Go on, Sister. Let me see who you really are.”

“North!” Theta cried out, completely horrified.

South glared at him, her eyes narrowing as well. 

They stayed motionless for a moment before she raised the gun up and brought the butt right down over his head, making North duck forward with the hit. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” she growled. “Like I was explaining when it was just me and your pet glow stick, you and I have _options_ now. Ones that we’re only going to have so long as you shut the fuck up and follow my lead.”

“Options?” North asked, rubbing at his head. “See, Theta, I told you she’s not bad--”

He dodged the swipe of her fist. “Shut _up_ , North!” she growled. “Stop talking to that thing when _I’m_ around. I’m calling the shots here. What don’t you get about that?”

“Want me to start calling you ‘mom’?” he asked, reaching up to take off his helmet. “You hit about as hard as her -- you been working out?”

“Oh, don’t try to butter me up,” South snapped back. “I’ve met with people outside of Freelancer. Obviously Freelancer doesn’t know about that, else they probably wouldn’t have been so keen on sending me after you instead of one of your little AWOL buddies,” she paused, eyes flickering over him. “I’m not risking this very generous offer of our new friends in the UNSC for York or the others, North. So if you’ve got them contacted or something, I swear to god--”

“York and I... aren’t together anymore,” North responded hesitantly, pushing up from the pavement. “It’s just been me and Theta. With few exceptions, been that way for a while now.”

“That’s _almost_ surprising,” South responded, keeping her trigger finger on her gun all the same. “Did you wise up? No. Of course not. He’s the one who left, right?” 

“He’s convinced he can find out what _really_ happened to Carolina,” North sighed, rubbing at his neck.

South watched him before huffing. “Tch. Typical. Fucking _typical._ You could have _really_ saved him some time by reminding him that Carolina’s fucking _splattered_ around Sidewinder thanks to Maine.”

“C’mon,” North said, shaking his head, “Don’t be disrespectful. Besides... as much as Freelancer has lied to us, can you blame him for holding onto the hope that they were lying about her, too?”

“Look, I’ve been working for Freelancer since all this shit went down, I’m their top agent,” South reminded him darkly. “No one would be more surprised to learn that Carolina was somehow _miraculously_ still alive than _me._ And even if it was true, what the _fuck_ would she be doing working for us?”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” North sighed. “No need to push the point. Regardless... York’s not in the picture. Whatever we’re doing here, it’s just the two of us again. Just like old times. Just with Theta.” He couldn’t help the smirk that came across his face as Theta flickered in and out again. 

South looked unmoved. 

“What?” North asked suspiciously.

“I’m just trying to deal with the irony that my brother stabbed me in the back for someone who left him out to dry for a dead chick,” she snapped.

“South, believe it or not, the whole world’s not regularly working against you,” North grunted, putting his hands on his hips. “I’ve got a lot of explaining to do, sure. You deserve that. And I deserved that punch a bit, I’ll give you those things. But I’m actually _so damn glad_ to see you again I don’t want to fight you. I’m going to listen to you, alright? You’re in control. It’s _the South Show_ now.”

“Only because this time _I’m_ the one with a gun,” South snorted. “Don’t try to twist this to your advantage. I’m _fully_ aware of why you’re willing to do what I say right now.”

“It has nothing to do with the gun,” North said with a roll of his eye. “By the way, the Charon forty-five has a high rate of jamming. If I didn’t want to go with you, I could pretty easily hedge the odds in my favor.”

“Bullshit!” 

“Wanna bet?” North asked, turning toward her more directly. “C’mon, South. You know I love my guns.”

She glared at him a moment longer before holstering it. 

“There we go,” North responded, crossing his arms. “So. Tell me about your supposed _new friends.”_

* * *

It was easier to go through the emotions she _didn’t_ feel walking behind her brother. There was a part of her that wanted to scream at him some more, to _really_ deliver a clenching one liner to shut him up. 

There was another part of her that genuinely believed she would have never seen him again, and that part was the hardest one of all. The part of her that still wanted to believe there was something between them that hadn’t been marred by the last several years. 

She hated them both fairly equally.

Every few moments as they walked, North keeping in line with her vision, his head would bob toward the left shoulder. On even rarer occasions it would be met by a flicker of light that just as readily disappeared as it came. He’d then look forward and keep going like he hadn’t seen anything at all. 

It infuriated South even more than her conflicted feelings. 

“Tell that _thing_ that if it has something to say then it can say it to _both_ of us, North,” South ordered. “I don’t like not being in whatever conversation you’re having.”

“You wouldn’t like the conversation we’re having,” North alerted her, looking over his shoulder. “Theta’s just a little worried about your gun is all. I keep telling him he’s got nothing to worry about. You’re not shooting us.”

“I’m not shooting you as long as you keep walking, yeah, sure,” South huffed in aggravation. She glanced to her coordinates on the HUD. “Until... right... Stop.”

“Hm,” North replied, putting his hands on his hips and looking around. “This appears to be an alley, dear sister--”

“North, shut the fuck up, I’m _aware_ it’s an alley,” South snapped, pulling up her gauntlet and projecting a screen from the wristlet Control had been so kind as to outfit her with. 

Her eyes couldn’t help but wander to North and his AI when the small sprite projected itself fully to her brother’s left shoulder. Theta shook his head at North.

“You said you weren’t going to do that,” the AI scolded.

North sighed and shrugged. “Force of habit.”

South punched in her directions then lowered the screen, glaring at both of them. They stared expectantly back before she growled in aggravation and waved to them. “Weren’t going to do _what?”_ she demanded.

The two simultaneously flinched back. “Nothing.”

“Ugh, god, it’s idiots in stereo,” she hissed before looking up to the sky. “Just do me a favor and shut up for a moment.”

“Sure thing, right after you tell me what that fancy thingamajig you had out was,” North said, pointing to her gauntlet. “And after you explain why we’re in an alley in the middle of--”

“Hey, _here’s_ an idea, North,” South snapped, looking down at him angrily. “Do what I say _now_ and not get your ass handed to you again. How about that one?”

North crossed his arms and eyed her. 

Theta bounced, head bobbing from one twin to the other before settling on South and raising his hand hesitantly. “Um. I like that one.”

South huffed and threw a thumb toward Theta. “He might grow on me after all.”

They all three immediately looked to the skies at the piercing sound of something fired overhead. North seemed to reflexively reach for his back, only his sniper rifle had long since been put on South’s own back for good measure. Theta’s light show flickered around him and he droned out a report far too fast for South to catch onto, not that she needed it. 

While North was moving out of the way and reaching for her, South was walking toward the exact spot where the small pod was landing just at the coordinates that she had directed. 

“South?” North called out, turning on his heel to fully face both his sister and the dropped pod. 

“Calm down, Brother,” South replied with a near sigh as the pod opened up with her approach. “I told you I was in charge here, didn’t I?” 

North came up behind her, quiet and cautious and still remaining quite a few feet back from the computer that was hidden within the pod. As with most things in the field, he seemed uncomfortable with proximity. 

“How much do you trust these friends of yours, South?” 

“ _Enough_ , North, now shut up,” she said, giving him a warning glance before reaching forward and inserting the pin number that Control had given her from before. “Control?” she called out as she saw the call picked up. “This is Agent South -- from Freelancer. I have found North Dakota.”

She didn’t have to look to see North’s cautionary glances. She was more than familiar with them _and_ the feeling of him breathing down her neck. 

A filtered voice, almost alien in its frequency responded after a long processed moment, “This is good news Agent South. We had expected excellence given your known records from the Project Freelancer archives as well as the tenacity you showed in first contacting us. What was not expected was your speed and efficiency. We had only contacted you recently and had expected getting adequate cover from the Recovery Unit would have taken more time.”

“I get the job done,” South agreed. “North is working with me now. So that’s _two_ former Freelancer Agents at your disposal. _And_ a shit ton of information and mechanical scans I’ve already sent your way.”

“Indeed it is,” Control responded thoughtfully. “I suppose you are hoping to breach the next step in our plans then.”

“Exactly,” South replied.

North let out a heavy exhale through his nose, looking squarely at South. “And just what would _that_ be?”

“Ah,” Control’s voice pressed back into the conversation. “The illustrious sharpshooter and top sniper of Project Freelancer. Agent North Dakota. It is quite an honor to have you joining our operations. Having met your sister I feel it’s fair to assume her supply of the information has been... _basic_ to this point.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” North responded almost in a growl toward the pod.

“Hey,” South snapped, whirling back between the both of them.

“Rest assured,” Control continued, “all benefits and offers provided to your twin are, of course, to be offered to you as well upon certain assistances on bringing down Project Freelancer.”

North’s gaze flickered to Theta who all but returned the curious glance. 

“Hey, Control, as _I_ recall it, I said getting North was only the first half of what I would need for the later parts of this plan,” South spoke up again, pushing her hands over the screen and leaning in over the computer. “I need a _full_ team to do what you want. A team under _my_ call. I’m the only one who’s gonna know _shit_ about taking down Command from the inside.”

Baffled, North’s head tilted. “You... _You’re_ going to be leading a team.”

Without lessening her grip on the pod, South glanced over her shoulder, muscles tensed. 

Raising his hands, North sighed and nodded. “Right, sorry. You’re in charge, South.”

“I already do have a team in mind for this mission, Agent South,” Control spoke up, bringing South’s gaze back to the screen. “It will take time to gather it as one soldier is... currently unavailable--”

South glanced to North who shrugged along with her, “What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“--and, as you know, CT is currently checking on the information you provided with the planetary schematics.”

“Great _that_ asshole,” South groaned.

“What-- _CT?”_ North barked out, straightening up. “That was really her then? But how--”

"Long story, it _isn’t_ who you think it is,” South cut him short before looking to the computer. “Okay. It’s going to take time. Just what exactly do you purpose North and I do until then? Sit on our thumbs? Command is going to be expecting me to report back in soon. They _know_ that I’m going after North and they _know_ that their information on his location was good. It was the same information _you_ gave me.”

“I propose you hide yourselves in an upcoming dilemma,” Control responded smoothly.

Again, the twins exchanged puzzled looks before returning to the screen.

“You see, that same leak of information we utilized for the location of Agent North alerted us to another nearby former agent of interest to your prestigious program,” Control said calmly. “Agent South. How would you and Agent North feel about tackling former Agent Maine?”

The two looked at the screen before glancing to each other.

Theta flickered nervously. “Um.”

“He’s not the same guy he was in Freelancer,” North warned South. “Theta and I ran into him for a short amount of time there. It wasn’t pretty. But--”

“But you were alone in the field,” South replied with a smirk. “C’mon, North. Maine nor anybody else in the whole program ever figured out how to tackle us when we were on the same team.”

“Carolina did,” North said with his hands on his hips. “And Maine killed Carolina.”

“Agents, perhaps a compromise is in order,” Control spoke up. “We have only suggested you utilize Maine’s presence as cover for your own operations. Perhaps as a way to vanish from the radar. It would not be outside of the behaviors demonstrated on recorded Recovery Unit findings. And, of course, we have a vested interest in any and all information you can gather -- even from afar -- on the additional agents of the program _and_ unregistered equipment.”

South glanced to North. 

He nodded. “I think we can do that.”

“Alright, Control,” South said, reaching to end the session. “We’re in.”


	15. Recovery Zero V: Face the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolina and York's reunion carries some unexpected consequences when Command alerts Carolina to a nearby threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay so this was actually a very interesting chapter to write specifically because those of you who follow me on tumblr know that about a month or two before I started publishing this story, I actually published a small excerpt for it in response to a fic prompt meme I got. And while a few things changed since, y’know, half a year ago, it’s been REALLY cool to see how much of my original draft & outline still fit into the puzzle. It’s exciting and terrifying. And might mean I’ll release more preview excerpts for stories like that in the future, since my main concern with those is that I never want to release something that I’ll eventually cut out and thus disappoint people by getting them excited with the first excerpt – which is one of the reasons I’ve never really gotten around to publishing the one-shot I had in mind that eventually became my first multichaper story for RvB, Divided. But we’ll see! I’d love to get some feedback from you guys on it!
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, Yin, nota4, Dextra2, and @meirelle for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

The plan was simple. She needed to continue behaving exactly as Command expected -- trail after the Meta, stop him in some way. She needed someone on her call when and if things got too hairy. She also needed that person to be doing her personal business -- to be tracking down the whereabouts of the Director while she safely could not. 

Simple. Until it got complicated.

York’s arm wasn’t heavy, it was just the appropriate weight over her. It was a funny thing, really, how easy it was to let the fire die out and the shade from the trees shift back and forth over them while she was held in that arm. 

She missed it more than she thought she had. 

Sleep had escaped her throughout what passed for night on Freelancer’s strange little planet, but with York breathing into her neck it had almost felt like years ago. Before things were complicated. 

That was the danger, she supposed. The one she had avoided for so long.

 _Smartly_ avoided.

If she remembered correctly, York was still a heavier sleeper than he would ever care to admit. Which made things somewhat easier.

It didn’t take as much to dip under his arm and let it lightly fall back in place beside him as she gathered the supplies and armor immediately around her. She had known better than to leave it too far before. Soldier’s instincts and what not.

There was an emotional void about it all. She could feel the coolness of the wind until the last moments of setting her armor back in place, how hard and unforgiving each piece was before it locked into the kevlar suit beneath. But there was a numbness in all of her action, a cotton-like dryness to her mouth as she tried to come up with what to do next. 

Contacting York wasn’t supposed to carry so many changes to _herself_ let alone her plan. And yet there were wires missing from York’s armor that she had needed to stay exactly where they were, and in their stead she had handed over the directions to a bullseye on her back.

Looking at York she wondered just how much of a mistake she might have made. And whether running from it was still an option. 

Helmet on, she fell back into the rhythm of a Recovery Agent. She could look away again, walk away slowly. 

With York holding her frequency, she couldn’t imagine it’d be long into her running away that he’d come after her. But at the very least she’d be in control of where she was running _to_ , which almost made it worth it. Almost. 

Finally, Carolina reached up to her helmet, looking up to the sky peaking between the forest cover. “Command,” she said softly.

“This is Command. You’re clear, Recovery Zero. Go ahead.”

“Command,” she repeated, bringing her gaze instead to her feet. “I need direction.”

“You need more than direction, Zero,” Command responded. “You’re going to need a jumpstart and a plan.”

Narrowing her eyes slightly, Carolina looked to her vehicle. “What do you mean?”

“I know you were thinking of gathering a team to take on the target, and that’s a plan I still fully endorse,” Niner said, apprehension sneaking into her tone. “But you might not have time. We have him locked onto. Maine -- the Meta. He’s on the move, and you’re within range to go after him.”

“Details,” Carolina spat out, beginning to move toward her mongoose. “I’m going to need details, Command!”

“Two hours north of you is a small docking outpost. It served as a munitions site for some of the simulation outposts between the Hub and Command.”

“And you think he’s going to just stay there and wait for me?” Carolina demanded, beginning to rewire everything she had torn off the night before with lightning fast speed. 

“I don’t think he’s leaving any time soon,” Command responded.

“Why?” 

“Because he’s having trouble breaking into the facility. There’s something he want in it, and every time he enters a level, it locks the one behind him down. It’s a very tightly secured facility. I don’t have any data on what’s kept in there but... Carolina. It’s big.”

“And it’s going to be _bad_ if the Meta gets a hold of it,” she responded with a shake of her head. “Typical. Alright, Command. I’m going traceable, I’ll contact you soon. Until then... I’m going after the Meta.”

She turned off her radio and jumped onto the Mongoose, looking up just in time to meet York’s face. 

“You, of course, secretly meant _we_  in that,” he said, Delta projecting right by his face to add to Carolina’s stare down. 

Carolina looked at him, at his stance and his expression. He never second guessed her before. She supposed she’d earned it since then. 

“Of course,” she responded, and tried to not flinch as he jumped onto the back of the vehicle. There were a million reservations flying through her head by the time Delta projected over the dash of the vehicle.

“Agent Carolina, I believe that, if you would allow me access, I could provide you with a more efficient path to Command’s coordinates,” the AI offered.

“That would be helpful, Delta, thank you,” she responded stiffly.

“Are you alright?” York asked, not missing a beat as Delta disappeared and took control of the guidance system. 

“To be honest, York, I don’t know,” she said. 

“Me neither,” he sighed, putting on his helmet. “You know how I feel about your driving.”

It almost felt _too_ right to give his shoulder a good punch. 

* * *

Things had gotten off to a slightly rough start. Even if Carolina fell into the rhythm of accepting York’s snark with her usual subtle amusement, the fact remained that she was still only partially present.

Almost how York himself wouldn’t have been _present at all_ if Delta hadn’t been sharp as a tack and monitoring everything in York’s sleep. The crafty AI kept his word about trying to keep plans for _both_ Carolina and York in mind rather than just York. 

Even if he was vocal about not liking it. 

 _I still maintain that we could have allowed Carolina to leave without us -- as she was clearly about to do -- and escaped being part of this particularly dangerous mission,_ Delta droned on, his words carrying particular pressure right between York’s eyes. 

Standing back by the Mongoose as Carolina scouted from the cliff nearby, York just scowled. 

“We don’t know for sure,” York lied.

_You are thinking otherwise, York._

“Dee, a little sensitivity could go a _long_ ass way in this relationship of ours,” he reminded the AI with a casual glance to his shoulder even if Delta was not projecting. 

 _Is this a subject you wish to drop then?_ Delta asked. 

“Not really. I just want you to meet me at my level more,” York responded with a sigh. “You _know_ everything’s not all right with Carolina. How she’s acting and just...”

 _Which was why I disagreed with last night,_ Delta huffed almost in aggravation.

“You’ll just have to let that one go because I sure as hell am not going to apologize for any of this,” York responded, raising his brows slightly. “Besides, you always said you wanted to study more human to human interactions. There you go.”

 _I think we’re too close to the situation, York, to be making these very important decisions,_ Delta continued. _I would like to once more bring up the idea of leaving on transport. Now that you have found Agent Carolina, you can invite her as well._

“Oh, is this you giving me permission for that?” he snorted.

_Yes._

“Well, at least you’re honest,” York responded, taking a deep breath as he watched Carolina’s back. “...Also I’d be lying if I didn’t say that it’s a pretty damn good idea. Get the fuck away from all this. Let Freelancer crash and burn on its own. Carolina said it herself -- it’s coming.”

Delta hummed in the back of York’s mind. _You are building up to an objection, though._

“She said Wash is out there,” York reminded Delta.

 _She said he is now a Recovery Agent, yes,_ Delta agreed. _That is not exactly more approachable than when he was a patient or a prisoner of the program either, York. If anything, approaching Agent Washington now carries even more risk to our own capture._

“By who? _Wash?”_ York asked skeptically.

_It is not an impossibility that he is willingly still working for the program. Perhaps his past experience with Epsilon carries changes to himself we have not witnessed._

“Hey, have I ever mentioned that you are a complete pessimist and work _really_ hard at bringing down my good moods?” York asked, glaring toward Delta who finally appeared over his shoulder.

 _My apologies, but I must disagree. I find myself quite a realist, York. Perhaps you are overly optimistic,_ Delta accused right back.

“Nah,” York responded with a shrug. “You can’t be an optimist after what we’ve been through. _I’m_ the realist here.”

_You contradicted logical conclusions for a year in order to pursue an intuition._

_“And realistically,_ who ended up being right on that one?” York replied with a smirk.

 _I believe this is what they refer to as a_ fluke _, York._

"I think _you_ are what is referred to as a _sore loser,_ Dee,” York replied. 

“York!” Carolina called back, lowering her binoculars. “Come over here.”

Delta hummed and disappeared as York walked toward Carolina, tilting his head slightly as he stopped at her side. He didn’t hesitate to take the binoculars when offered to him and begin taking a look for himself. 

“The colonies on this rock are more and more like ghost towns every day,” he observed.

“The UNSC is pulling forces out from the Director at an increasing speed. It’s almost like he wants no one to be on the planet, or that he figures that all that equipment that has been on loan for years to the program won’t be as dangerous if there’s not enough people to use it,” Carolina explained, crossing her arms as she looked him over. “What were you two talking about over there?”

Being acknowledged in conversation, Delta bothered to project himself again.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” York assured her as he locked onto the facility Carolina had mentioned on the way. “I guess the past year has got me good at talking to myself. This it?” He looked over the facilities, took note in particular of the wire fencing and line of assault vehicles that, at the very least, were unmanned.

“That was _almost_ accusatory, York. It’s not like you to be indirect,” Carolina responded. “Are you looking North West?”

“I am.”

“Then that’s it,” she answered, keeping her gaze locked on York even as he lowered the binoculars and straightened up himself. 

"How bad is this going to be?” York asked. “I didn’t see any guards around that facility at all. And I don’t think I’ve been _anywhere_ in my little cross country roadtrip on this planet yet where that’s been the case at an active site.”

“You didn’t look near the trash compactor then,” Carolina responded. “The Meta’s took care of any other obstacles and he’s been in there since Command reported in.”

York scowled. “And he bothered to move the bodies so you wouldn’t discover them on a path into the building. Ambush then?”

“A sloppy one for anyone with the formal training given to any of us in Freelancer,” Delta spoke up.

“How well do you trust your information from Command?” York asked Carolina carefully.

“She wouldn’t be lying to me or setting me up. But her being the in between means someone on the other side of Command _might_ be. I just doubt it,” Carolina responded.

“She?” York pressed. “You know who is dealing out your orders first-hand then.”

“You would trust her with your life, too, York,” she responded. “It’s Four-Seven-Niner.”

Delta blinked out for a moment before projecting -- leading York to raise a brow to him. Apparently the AI had felt that information was important enough to record. “Interesting.”

“You’re kidding?” York asked, turning his gaze back to Carolina. “How did they manage that?”

“She hasn’t been cleared for flight since the wreck,” Carolina explained. “And something has her thinking it’s better for her to stay in the program than to leave it. She just hasn’t told me _what_ yet.”

“Oh, _that’s_ trustworthy,” York grunted.

“She’s the most trustworthy of anyone else in the program who’s still around,” Carolina countered.

“And _that_ is not saying much,” Delta agreed. “I am supposing that if Four-Seven-Niner is not cleared for flight then she is based somewhere. Command has a base facility?”

“That would be correct, Delta,” Carolina answered.

“And that would be the most secure facility. Even more than these storage buildings. So if there was something that the program deemed important to keep from reach, it would be there,” Delta continued. 

Feeling slightly confused himself now, York glared at Delta’s sprite suspiciously. 

“If there is something that important. Yes,” Carolina responded just before, right behind them, the sound of the building exploding filled the air. “And yes, Delta. I would hope it would be more secure than _this_ facility.”

“Someone got tired of waiting, jesus,” York called out. 

“The Meta must have grabbed something _big_ here if he is being this bold. We need something to our advantage. Something quick and something with a big gun,” Carolina called as she began to drop down the cliff.

“By the facility are some Warthogs!” York called out.

“That’ll do, meet me that way,” Carolina called out.

As he ran, York glared in Delta’s direction, watching as the spite appeared, running as well. “What the hell are you plotting?” he asked.

“I am not plotting, merely curious,” Delta answered.

“We are not going after the Alpha ever again. Even Tex gave up, we almost lost _everything_ when we took down the _Mother of Invention_ for it, alright?” York reminded his friend. “Sorry, Dee. I know how important it was to you and everything--”

“I was not planning that, York,” Delta interrupted. “And I was not curious for the sake of the Alpha. That is all.”

York narrowed his eyes as Delta’s projection disappeared. He shook his head and leaped into the jeep. “Everyone’s so keen on being cryptic, for fuck’s sake.”

Carolina jumped into the back, readying the gun. “Drive around the facility and keep your eyes--”

“ _Eye.”_

 _“And_ Delta’s eyes on alert,” Carolina ordered without missing a beat. 

York started up the jeep and began floor it. 

“Agent Carolina,” Delta spoke up, projecting by the dashboard. “I believe, statistically, you would be more safe for these sorts of high speed altercations if you were to be seated and properly wearing your seatbelt--”

“No,” Carolina snapped, in full mission mode.

“In the last year, the number of M12 Light Reconnaissance Vehicle related deaths that could have been prevented if only for the utilization of a seatbelt--”

“Delta, I said no.”

“Dee does this, Carolina, it’s his thing,” York spoke up, swerving as another part of the outpost began catching fire and spewing out sparks. “Holy shit. Maine isn’t fucking around!”

“I think Delta was right,” Carolina growled as she whirled around with the gatling gun. “This is feeling less and less like the Meta.”

* * *

It wasn’t making any sense. 

Carolina had kept tabs on the Meta for months, had observed with her own eyes his motions, his movements. She had seen for herself where Maine slightly showed through, then how that disappeared. She understood that the Meta had nothing to hide, only a need to dismantle and destroy in his path. 

But not like what they were seeing then -- not the hit and run strategy that was being employed right that moment. It reminded her of something completely else -- but just what she couldn’t remember in the heat of the moment.

“Delta, give me a path!” York ordered as they avoided more debris. 

“Calculating.”

He leaned back, his head tilted toward Carolina as he continued to speed around the facility. “Carolina, this place is going to blow, I don’t know how much more time we’ve got around here. And I’m not exactly a fan of heading toward the city considering I’ve gotten a bit of a record since the last time we met--”

“What? Trying to use your new _bad boy_ status to impress me, York?” she asked with a hidden smirk as she looked around just for one of the towers to collapse on the road behind them. “Also, looks like you’ll have to get over your sudden shyness. Going _back_ isn’t an option.”

“Great, just what I love to hear,” York replied. 

“I agree with moving forward, however the _specifics_ of what constitutes forward could make my recommended route easier to compile,” Delta announced, projecting over the dashboard. 

Carolina gave the comment some consideration as she aimed the gatling gun forward again just before there was the familiar sound of gunfire above all other noise and explosion up ahead. Her eyes narrowed.

“We’ve got a direction,” she announced. “Delta--”

"Composing route,” he announced before going dark again.

“Uh, Carolina...?” York asked worriedly, already shifting his directions through whatever routes Delta fed him directly.

“Let me check on our company, keep us out of sight if you can. I’m going to contact Command,” she ordered as she reached for her helmet only to notice the way York was shaking his head.

“Cee, you won’t have to,” he shouted back to her. “Delta and I have a low common frequency with North and Tex, so that if we’re ever accidentally in the same area we can overhear each other and know it’s friendly.”

Carolina took a breath, feeling a snarl. “You didn’t think this was important enough to _inform me_ that Texas could be in the area--”

“No, not Tex,” York bit back. “North. I can just barely pick it up which means there’s a sniper’s nest for him nearby enough to get visuals.”

“Then we’re fine?” Carolina pressed curiously.

“No, it means North’s _with_ someone,” York announced just as he took a curb. “And if he’s working with the same person he was looking for last time I saw him, and what you’re saying is _true--”_

The gunfire intensified and York kept his head down just in time to avoid a stray bullet. 

Carolina took more cover behind the gun of the Warthog as York muttered his thanks to Delta and glared beyond them. She honed in on the stalking figure of the Meta, Maine’s armor distinguishable even half a mile away. 

And while her armor wasn’t necessarily a visual cue, that orchid armor was all Carolina needed to identify South.

“Son of a bitch,” she hissed. “This could ruin everything if she sees us.”

“What!?” York yelled back, clearly not involved in the commentary as he rose back up in his seat and took full control of the wheel again. “Delta says that we’ve got a good chance of flanking if--”

"Forget it!” she yelled down at him.

York’s head bobbed back. “What!?”

“I said forget it, York! We’re falling back!” she ordered him. “We can’t let South see us or else that’s a _direct_ line to Command. They’ll know I was seen by another Recovery Agent _and_ know that I’m with you. We can’t let that happen!”

“But he’s got South covered!” York yelled, coming to a stop regardless. He turned in his seat to leer at her from behind his helmet. 

“And like you said, North is posted nearby--”

There was an aggressive roar, though the lines blurred between it being either from the Meta or South. Carolina joined York in looking over just as the bike South had been rushing toward was picked up by the Meta and chucked toward her.

“What the fuck...” York began, almost rising from his seat. “Those things are almost _three tons!”_

“There is a Strength Boost armor enhancement that could have been stored at this facility,” Delta spoke up, projecting from York’s shoulder. “Isn’t that _right,_ Agent Carolina?”

“There are _many_ things that could have been here,” Carolina replied. “But yes, Delta, that is one of the enhancements currently on schedule to be replicated.”

“Well, that’s fantastic,” York snarked. “If there’s _one_ person in this godforsaken program I would have pegged as needing a strength enhancement, it was the guy who already bench pressed eight hundred pounds in training.” He looked to Carolina. “We have to help her--”

“You said it yourself, York. North is here,” Carolina snapped just as sniper fire hit the Meta. “We have to _leave_ before we get attention.”

“But--” 

They both looked at the low humming growl that approached them. The form of the Meta stalked forward, it domed head lowered almost like a predator on the prowl. It was nearing, and it had the Brute Shot that Maine once cherished so much aimed and ready.

“Aw, _son of a bitch,”_ York hissed, immediately readying the gears to shift. 

“No, York,” Carolina said, readying her sights. “Change of plans. We’re charging.”

“I do not like this course of action,” Delta began.

“Yeah, me neither,” York spoke up. “Are you serious right now?”

“York! Move!” she demanded.

“Fuck it!” York groaned before flooring ahead toward the Meta just the moment Carolina unleashed the gatling gun on him. Her eyes narrowed in on the sights of an old friend and she quickly banished any thoughts that the same old friend was still there. 

The Meta fired back, leading to York ducking beneath another spray of gunfire through his windshield. He matched it with a string of curses. 

Carolina watched as more than a few of her shots made their mark, but the Meta stood its ground. Her eyes widened as she realized what was happening. 

“It’s the shadow,” she got out just before it flickered out of existence. “York! Pull back!” 

“Can you make up your mind just for a few minutes?” he called back to her before raising back up in his seat just to realize the Meta was no longer there. He poured on the breaks, head whipping back and forth. “What the--”

Together, they watched as in the distance a vehicle started up, and saw South take off toward one of the distant roads. 

“He’s going to follow her,” York yelled to Carolina. 

“Then so are we!” Carolina yelled back. “Stay within visual of South but enough back that we’ll see the Meta.”

“I’m beginning to think this road trip wasn’t the best idea for our relationship,” York announced as he started forward. “Also, am I the only one here concerned about what he can do to a _jeep_ if he could pick up a bike--”

Carolina looked ahead just in time to see the flicker of the Meta there in front of them, stepping out from behind one of the buildings. There wasn’t time to react for either her or York as the Meta reached ahead of himself with the Brute Shot’s blade and crashed headlong into the front of their Warthog.

She merely watched as the vehicle began to flip with herself and everyone else in it. Her eyes stayed locked on the Meta until everything came crashing back down again.

* * *

There was a low ring in York’s ears, everything in front of his eyes blurred behind Delta’s green glow. His AI seemed more concerned than usual which, of course, was never an all together good thing.

“York. York. Agent York, it is _imperative_ that you get to your feet. You have suffered a severe coup lesion on the left frontal lobe. Healing Unit is activated. Danger is still present. Chances of former Agent Maine not returning to the site of the crash are less than thirty-two percent after deciding Recovery Two is too difficult to catch on foot.”

York groaned, his head was literally throbbing in pain as he forced himself into a sitting position. Glass swept aside in his broad movement trying to bring his hand to his head. The helmet was dented. _Fuck_ that was bad.

“Dee, Dee, please… just… give me a second,” he pleaded in the midst of Delta’s persistent chatter. Everything was spinning, hard to focus on. “Damn it… That was _Maine?”_

With that, York looked over his shoulder to see the utterly destroyed warthog – split down the middle all the way to the gatling gun in the back. And that was with his former friend injured.

Thinking on it with what capacity he had to do so, York didn’t think he had ever seen a human being move that way before. Ever do that much damage with such minimal equipment before.

“I believe that is why Agent Carolina preferred to discuss this adversary as the _Meta_ rather than Agent Maine,” Delta expressed. “Other than physical presentation, there was very little to hold in common between Agent Maine and the Meta”

Clearing up his vision some, York suddenly felt his stomach drop. He spun around, ignoring the pain of his head as he rose to his feet. “Carolina. Oh, fuck. Oh FUCK!”

He took a stumbling run toward the jeep, sloppily leaping over its overturned belly to reach the other side where he almost immediately found Carolina unconscious and trapped underneath.

“No no no, not again,” he muttered between breaths as he dropped to his knees, checking the armored form. “Carolina! Carolina, wake up!” He looked to his right shoulder just as Delta projected there. “Dee! Why didn’t you tell me about this–”

“We are not currently in any condition to provide adequate assistance to Agent Carolina’s injuries, York,” Delta defended. “My main objective, and the objective we can fully meet, is to remove ourselves from danger before the Meta has returned.”

“And leave Carolina? I don’t think so, Dee,” York snapped, immediately getting to his feet and looking around for something to use as leverage. When nothing could be found he released a growl and turned around, pushing his weight back against the half of the warthog that had landed on Carolina. 

“But, York, is that not what she did to us? And our friends?” Delta posed almost confusedly. 

“It’s just not the same, Dee,” York growled. 

“Beside that, I warned her of the dangers of standing while in a moving vehicle–”

“Delta, what’s the best angle to get on releasing Carolina?” 

“Lower your grip five and a half centimeters,” Delta advised, York did so and began to feel the shift of the vehicle. 

“I need you to disconnect the Healing Unit, Dee,” York said between his teeth as he finally pulled the vehicle back enough that he could see Carolina’s legs. 

“But, York, your own injuries–” 

“ _Now_ , Dee,” York snapped. 

“Acknowledging,” Delta sighed. They both froze as they could hear a vehicle approaching from the road that the Meta had just chased South down. York could feel his heart skip a beat. Then the cooling relief of the healing unit disappeared from his armor. “We had best hurry, York.”

“Buddy, you aren’t kidding,” York muttered.

Kicking back some of the larger debris he had gathered as best he could, York managed to buy some time, leaning the half of the vehicle on it before ducking down and pulling Carolina back out before the collapse. The combination of motion and screeching metal without the euphoric sensation of the healing unit had York on his elbows and knees beside Carolina. He almost felt ready to vomit in his helmet, and somewhat hysterically memories of Wash and old pranks fluttered around his already buzzing and throbbing brain.

“Oh _fuck,”_ he heaved, lowering his head until his visor hit the pavement. His vision was still swimming.

“York,” Delta picked up again, concern riddling his tone. “You are not in a stable condition. _Please_ readminister the healing unit to yourself so I may begin operating it at full capacity--”

“No,” York grunted, forcing himself onto his knees. He reached for his chest plate where Delta had dutifully ejected the armor enhancement. 

Even with all his determination, his fingers were clumsy, fumbling over the device before finding purchase and shakily removing it. 

“I _cannot_ condone this course of action,” Delta responded snappishly. “ _Please_ reconsider. I fear the most likely outcome of your current stubbornness is that _neither_ of you will escape now.”

“Well, I’ll just be setting things to where they probably should have ended up during the crash then, won’t I?” York responded as he finally found the slot in Carolina’s armor and quickly inserted the healing unit. 

The moment Carolina’s armor lit up in use, York felt a splendid relief of his own and leaned forward, laying his head against Carolina’s chest. 

Delta remained projected above them. 

“York,” he called almost softly. 

“Yeah, Dee?” York croaked out as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“I am familiar with survivor syndrome and those with the perchance for it,” Delta announced before flickering out with a last statement of, “Friendly approach.”

Blearily, York was able to open his eyes again despite every ache pushing against it and raised his head in time to see the vehicle that had been humming in the background beforehand. The violet armor was almost enough to make York want to simply lay back down when he saw it.

“Goddamn, York,” North’s voice called over the crunch of boots nearing them.

“A-are they okay?” Theta chimed in nervously.

“What a coincidence running into you here,” York mumbled as he felt North pull him into a sitting position. He looked up and smirked behind his armor. “You owe me some money. I found her.”

“I see that,” North said, sounding less than impressed. “Delta, how bad is it?” 

Delta projected again, drawing York’s vision away from his friend for a moment. “I am fearful of several contusions as well as a severe coup lesion to York’s frontal lobe. Despite my recommendations, he removed the healing unit to provide it instead for Agent Carolina. This was an unfortunate overestimation of York’s fortitude on his part.”

“Beautiful,” North joked back before turning his gaze on York. “And is Carolina going to make it if York borrows back that healing unit for a bit?” 

“No, at least not yet,” Delta announced.

“Well, fuck,” North sighed. “Any creative ideas, Theta?”

“We could call for a doctor?”

“That’s unhelpfully optimistic,” Delta countered. “Sorry for seeming crass, Theta.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I didn’t _really_ think it’d work,” Theta replied. 

York nodded to the motorcycle that North drove up on. “Give me that and any medical supplies you have,” he said firmly. “It’ll make us even at least.”

North and Theta both turned to look at the vehicle then back. North leaned back and shook his head. “What are you talking about? You never gave me a vehicle. That’s the furthest thing from even.”

“I _said_ I would if I could, though,” York reminded him. “C’mon, North. For old times? You found your sister.”

He shook his head and then threw a key at York. “Listen to me,” he said seriously, “not _only_ are you going to now seriously owe me for doing this,” he said as he grabbed York’s arm and hoisted him up, “you’re going to have to figure out a way to pay me back without looking for me.”

“That almost sounds like a romance novel,” York grunted as he forced himself to walk with North. 

“You’re _also_ going to promise me that you’ll listen _explicitly_ to Delta’s directions while you’re driving. That _includes_ stopping and switching out the healing unit with Carolina the _second_ she’s stable again,” North ordered, setting York onto the bike. He waited to make sure York was balanced then went back for Carolina. 

“That’s a lot of orders, I might not remember them all,” York attempted to joke before watching North carefully as he carried Carolina back. “What’s all the junk about not finding you about?”

“Oh, the usual twists and turns in our lives,” North grunted as he head back York’s way. “Found South. She found some friends. Those friends have an invested interest in burning Freelancer to the ground. We might have made a sweet deal out of it.” He situated Carolina in front of York carefully, then took the extra measure of tying them together. “That deal doesn’t include extra friends so far, though. Could be a bad deal.”

York looked around before turning back to North. “Guessing this is your guys’ handiwork?”

“It’s a long story, but South decided we needed to improvise a big scene with her. There’s a big to-do about former Freelancer Command,” North explained before nodding to Carolina. “I’m guessing you’ve heard a little about it.”

“Yeah, a little,” York acknowledged. “But you’re keeping safe, aren’t you? Like... I’m going to not have to kick your ass at the pearly gates, right?”

“That’s not in the plans yet as far as I’m aware,” North said. “Seriously, York, get out of here. Both of you. This whole thing... I’m not aware of _everything_ going on, but what I _am_ aware of isn’t going to be good for anyone caught on the wrong side.”

“Well, for once, let’s hope we choose right,” York replied before starting up the vehicle. “Thanks, North.”

“Medical supplies are in the usual spot,” North informed him. “Actually _listen_ to Delta, and for christsake _do not get yourself killed!”_

Offering a mock salute, York took off. 

His head was throbbing, but Delta was already readily taking over as far as directions were concerned. Which left York swimming with his thoughts.

“If it adds any potency to North’s attempts at _threatening_ you into healthy choices,” Delta announced in a low hum, “it is unlikely at this point that Carolina will survive without assistance. And the only one for now who can provide that assistance would be you. So I _also_ would find it reckless and irresponsible for you to die before this trip is over.”

“That’s very convincing, Dee, thank you,” York snorted. “Just... get us to safety, I’ll follow your every order in patching myself up from there,” he promised as he rested his chin over Carolina’s helmet. 

“Shall do,” Delta responded.  


	16. Recovery One V: Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington begins to scout out the mysterious Blood Gulch Simulation Outposts with Medical Officer DuFresne only to have a few surprises waiting on them.
> 
> Meanwhile, Tex's job becomes exceedingly more difficult when her hunt for Omega receives some unforeseen complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow this was a quick turn around! Especially since the chapter isn’t really that much shorter than the last I don’t think. Maybe I’m finally getting better at updating this sucker for you guys : ) A lot of people were asking about some of the plot points in this particular chapter so I’m so excited to finally be here with them! Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Special thanks to @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @ephemeraltea, Dextra2, and MeteorAtDusk for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

Blood Gulch was, by in large, the least interesting site Wash had visited among any of the various Freelancer simulation bases. Which was saying something as they _all_ , by definition, were more than a little useless and largely non-functional for actual military strategy.

“It’s... just a box canyon,” Wash observed out loud. “There is _nothing_ else out here. It’s not even a particularly large canyon... I just don’t understand.”

“It has a lovely skyline,” DuFresne noted right beside him, head tilted upward to observe said sky.

“No, it has rocks and dirt and dying grass,” Wash argued, tilting his gaze away from his binoculars just enough to scowl at the medic. “Why am I even talking to you?”

“I can’t answer that, Agent Washington, but if I were to wager -- which I strictly don’t agree with -- I’d say you have a lot of pent up social skills that you’ve been dying to use really deep down,” the purple armored man noted. “Humans are, after all, healthiest when they have good _social_ health working with them!” He paused, bringing a hand up from his medical instrument to the chin of his helmet. He hummed as he tapped on it. “Actually, you really seem like the type that would talk just for the sake of not being reminded of your loneliness. Tell me, Agent Washington, do you talk to yourself out loud a lot?”

“No,” Wash said immediately. “I don’t. Stop overanalyzing me. Your medical job, as far as I’m concerned is done.”

“Hardly,” the medic grumped back, standing with his arms crossed as he looked down at Wash. “You barely let me do anything to that wound other than remove some of the foreign bodies and the damaged tissue. It’s like all you wanted was a professional redressing.”

“That _is_ all I wanted,” Wash replied, angrily looking back at the medic as he continued to sit on his haunches. “I _hardly_ got that either. I have no idea why you were assigned to this if you are a brand new medical officer.”

“Medicine isn’t about how much formal practice you have, Washington,” DuFresne huffed. “It’s about how much heart you have.”

Taking a moment to process that argument, Washington lowered his binoculars and took a steady breath. It was all he could do to deny the growing urge to knock the medic off the cliff before them.

“Yeah,” Wash said lowly, picking up the binoculars again. “You’re not going to touch my wounds again.”

“Fine by me, you used _way_ too much of my supplies,” DuFresne responded with a shrug. “I’m saving the rest of this for that big ol’ Level Zero down there! Super exciting stuff. I might be put in a medical journal!”

Scowling, Wash looked back. “Do you even understand what a Level Zero is?”

DuFresne proudly put his hands on his hips and looked over the canyon. 

There was a pregnant pause before the medic’s gaze returned to Washington.

“Something important,” he answered.

“You’re an idiot,” Wash announced.

“There is _no need_ for name calling, Agent,” DuFresne replied. “Now, if you tell me the coast is clear, I’m going to go see about the soldiers in this canyon that _really_ need my help. And, I bet they’ll actually be super appreciative of me and my skills. Unlike _some people_ who order me around like a prisoner.”

Washington blinked a few times before standing up. “Fine. I honestly don’t care that much if you go down there and get your head blown off by someone in the canyon. As long as I don’t have to listen to _you_ complaining, I say I come out as the winner here.”

Somewhat aghast, DuFresne stepped back. “Shoot me? But... why would anyone shoot a medic? We’re neutral in all conflicts. I’m just here to... y’know... make people feel better. As they die.”

Narrowing his eyes, it took everything in Wash to not throw his binoculars at the so-called medical officer. “That is _not_ the job of a medic!”

"What? Of course it is!” DuFresne responded with a snort. “I mean, we’re not like _doctors_ or anything.”

Washington began to feel a pinpoint pressure growing between his eyes at the conversation. With a long sigh, he covered his visor with one hand and tried to think through it all. “Just what kind of medical qualifications do you have to be responding to a Level Zero?”

“Well, Command asked me if I was able to tell the difference between a living body and a dead body. And I said: I don’t need to know that! I just check my medical scanner,” he said lifting up the purple and green glowing device, “and my training lets me know what the different versions of green read out mean.”

Washington glared at him. “So they sent you specifically because you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Ha, well, Washington, I’m pretty sure that’s the _opposite_ of what I was saying,” he responded. “Try to keep up. I know you are trying to reintegrate your social skills still--”

“Stop talking,” Wash snapped. “They sent you because you will let your scanner do all the work. Which means that your abilities without that scanner are rather lackluster. As I got to witness when you almost chipped away my shoulder blade thinking it was shrapnel.”

“I said I was sorry. Plus it’s an easy mistake to make--”

“Shut up,” Wash growled. “I’m just trying to clarify that if that scanner told you someone was human, and they _weren’t_ , you’d believe it.”

DuFresne paused, tilted his head to the side. “Well, I can’t imagine why I’d ever scan someone who _wasn’t_ human. _Or_ why my scanner would say they were human when they weren’t. That’d be weird.”

“No, it’d be perfect for Command if they were hiding something here in this canyon,” Wash responded, looking out into it. 

“Why would they hide something in this canyon?” the medic asked, not keeping up whatsoever. “You just said it was useless.”

“It _is_ useless,” Wash said, looking back to the valley, feeling his heart twisting in his chest. He was on the _verge_ of something, and he was willing to bet that Wyoming was, too. “That’s what makes it perfect.”

“That doesn’t make any sense--”

“It makes perfect sense,” Wash defended. “It just doesn’t to you because you’re not a Freelancer and you don’t know what to look for.”

“Yeah, but you guys don’t see the value in a great skyline--”

“I’ll tell you what, DuFresne,” Washington said, turning back to the medic. “The more I think about it, the better of an idea it is that you go down into that canyon. Do your job. Pretend you don’t know anything about me being up here. Check out for any signs of life--”

“Human life or non-human life?”

“ _Either,”_ Wash groaned. “Listen, just go down there, but keep your radio on. These guys already have two graves dug up it looks like, so your _assisted dying_ might already have taken care of itself. If that’s the case, ask for a medical report as usual, and I’ll listen in on the radio.”

DuFresne tilted his head again. “But you said you ripped out your helmet radio--”

“I will listen on the motorcycle’s radio,” Wash responded angrily. 

“Yeah, but you won’t be able to talk to me and get all your feelings out in the open,” DuFresne responded with a wave to Washington’s person. “You’re already improving. I hear you so much more clearly now than I did when we first met--”

“ _I am not incapable of talking to people,”_ Wash roared. “I was hard to understand because I don’t have a helmet radio! You hear me better now because I am _yelling at you_ because I’ve had it about up to _HERE_ with dealing with you!”

Leaning back a bit, DuFresne looked around before pointing toward one of the declining ledges. “I guess you want me to get going then?”

“Yes,” Washington grunted. 

He watched as the medic began to descend into the canyon before walking back to the parked motorcycle where he turned the radio back on. All he got for the trouble though was the troubled medic’s mumblings under his breath and the sound of rocks that crumbled too late after DuFresne had passed over them to really brighten Wash’s day with an accident.

Shaking his head and turning the radio up loud enough to hear from more of a distance, Wash returned to his squatting spot and pulled back up his binoculars to look at the supposed Blue Base. 

His gaze returned almost immediately to the two grave sites that still seemed fresh by the back entrance -- one decorated in a cross, the other in a Star of David. 

“This place is already weird,” Wash mumbled. “It’s honestly probably a good thing I can send the medic out first. If things turn south on him... well, it won’t be the biggest tragedy the world’s suffered--”

Stopping himself, Wash lowered his binoculars and glared at the cliff by his feet. His eyes narrowed. 

The agent made a resolution to _not_ talk to himself out loud anymore. 

* * *

Church had made sure that they were given a respectful burial after Tex’s body ceased all function -- his original synthetic body and her’s. Side by side. It was very romantic. 

It also made Tex _certain_ she was going to kill him the first chance she got because it made her learning how to jump all that much more difficult. 

Omega had made it seem like such a simple task. Every time they had made an effort to separate the AI from her, he had jumped straight back to her, hopping hosts as necessary in order to get access. 

And the Alpha had gotten into the habit of jumping to any compartment available to him with such ease it didn’t even require the very basic knowledge of knowing he was an AI rather than a ghost to begin with.

But Texas... 

It had been hours, even longer, since her body had ceased functioning. Since the argument about how to bury their metal corpses. Since the ground beneath the hole they had dug began to sink beneath the weight of their armors and sent her collapsing into the underground network below and put her outside of the other soldiers’ radio signals.

“ _Fucking shit!”_ she screeched at herself in her all but too familiar prison. 

What should have been all too simple -- numbers and letters, coding, sifting through available frequencies -- felt like they were splitting her head in half. She was an AI -- _she_ knew that, the Alpha didn’t.

But, somehow, she found herself less capable of acting the part. 

In the years of Freelancer, in the time of tracking down the Alpha after, Tex had dealt out all AI-worthy tasks to Omega without a second thought. He was, after all, an AI fragment and keeping him busy with those tasks kept him from digging into her parts of their shared mind. But, what Tex hadn’t realized at the time, was that it was keeping her from performing anything like an AI herself.

Taking a heralding breath, or at least what constituted it for an AI facing the blank screen before her, Tex tried to pull herself together, tried to pull herself to that level of awareness she had _thought_ she had since finding CT’s dogtags. 

"This is ridiculous,” she decided bitterly. “If I was human I wouldn’t be feeling entombed, I’d be feeling _a whole lot more dead_ right now. And I’m not.” She paused, concentrating hard on accepting that fact.

“I’m not Allison,” she reminded herself. “At least... I’m not _her._ She’s _dead._ I’m not. I’m Tex. I’m a badass motherfucker.” Her eyes felt drawn to a distant glow. “And... before that... I’m _Beta._ And being _Beta_ means that I can do a lot of crazy AI things. Like _not_ being stuck here anymore.”

It was like a certain amount of weightlessness when she jumped. 

There was a thrill, and there was terror. There was some amount of faith that the destination -- just some fellow zeroes and ones -- would still be achievable at the end. But before that destination, between the mere seconds it took to achieve being in one space and then the other, Texas felt _nothing._ She felt _not existing._

And it was perhaps the most nauseating feeling she had ever experienced and returned from. The most _inhuman_ experience. 

When the light returned in glorious flourish, Tex found herself surrounded in code, found herself being reorganized bit by literal bit. 

And as she reconstructed, she realized how _massive_ the place she had landed was.

“What the hell _is_ this?” she asked as she did the AI equivalent of walking through the digital space. She consumed, copied, and understood each piece of data within her reach, understanding her new domain before putting attention on the main function of the computer.

Almost subconsciously, the screens upon screens of surveillance cameras pulled up around her -- the caves she had landed in, the sweeping views of Blood Gulch’s miserable canyon, the bases on either side inside or out. 

It was Freelancer’s observation deck. And it was giving her full view of a Red Team invasion of Blue Base.

“Christ,” she muttered. “Did I _really_ fucking die for nothing?” Her eyes then flickered to one view in particular, one of the Red Team’s signature vehicle and the pink passenger on board. “ _Is that the bitch that threw the grenade at me?_ Fuck. If I wasn’t so impressed with her arm, I’d go rip it off right now. Actually... I find a way up there into this whole damn thing... I _still_ might.”

There was still something nagging in the back of her mind, however, as she watched the scene unfold -- the Blues hiding behind the rocks, the Reds having absolutely _no_ idea how to properly fall in line. 

It wasn’t until she saw one of the Blues running toward the rock hiding Caboose that Tex realized what was wrong. 

“Purple?” she asked herself, zooming in on him. “They have a medic? Since when did Command preemptively send _medics_ to the Sim Trooper bases unless--” she paused, her worry beginning to bubble up again. “Something’s not right.”

Remembering the range of the computers she was inhabiting, Tex began to rearrange everything around her, spreading out the signal, searching for any other abnormalities.

She was expecting a hardline to Freelancer Command from the purple guy. 

She _wasn’t_ expecting a secondary signal from a vehicle just outside the canyon -- not too far from her own favorite observation spot over Blue Base.

Tex narrowed her eyes. “Wyoming,” she hissed. 

Thinking fast, Tex assessed the scene available from the cameras again. It looked like the Blues were surrendering to the Reds, which was its own set of issues. There were a few minds she could trust, but no one’s skills to match Wyoming’s. 

No one save for Tex herself. And she wasn’t sure if, considering how long it took her to learn just how to _jump_ it was going to take her to learn how to possess someone’s actions through their neural implants.

Her eyes set back on Church’s cobalt armor. 

“A _robot_ body, however...” she hummed to herself as she formulated a plan. 

* * *

Washington stared through his binoculars at the chaos below and knew it was going to be _very_ hard to keep his internal monologues to himself because he, quite frankly, _had no idea what was going on._

Some time between the most annoying conversation he thought he had ever listened in to between DuFresne and the clueless Blue Simulation Troopers and the gunfire, the other Simulation Troopers from Red Base attacked in one of the most disorganized military maneuvers -- _if it could even be called that --_ that Washington had ever witnessed.

Then, as soon as it started, it stopped. Probably because, if Wash’s observations were anything to go off of, the Reds had not brought enough ammunition to keep up a very sloppy and very wasteful attack where the only real tragedies were a few rocks and the Blue soldier’s toe that his own CO had apparently shot off.

Wash was _fairly_ certain he had no idea what was going on. 

So much so, in fact, he was beginning to reconsider his belief that Command was using the canyon for any specifically important provisions. 

And, in a highly unconventional, _highly_ conditional surrender, DuFresne was captured. 

Well. Better him than Washington, the former Freelancer supposed. 

“Do you want your leader to escort me over or something? Y’know... make sure I don’t get shot in the head... or anything... especially since I’m a medic and not a soldier and _really_ don’t want to be shot--” the medic’s voice whined clearly over the radio

The aqua colored soldier tilted his head at DuFresne. “Doc, if you don’t want to be shot, your best bet is to be over on Red Team. They can’t shoot shit. Obviously. The _last_ place you want to be is on Blue Team. You just witnessed our expert marksmanship: each other.”

The misleadingly dubbed Doc turned and looked at the two Blue troopers. “You all are the _weirdest_ group of soldiers I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, good,” the aqua soldier replied, still huddled at his rock. “We take a lot of pride in stuff like that. Right, Caboose?”

The large Blue soldier was spinning in place as Doc readied himself to become prisoner of the Red Team. He stopped again when he faced the other Blue. “I-I don’t see Church. I don’t know where he went after he shot my foot! Tucker! Tucker, where is Church? _I need him to be my best friend.”_ He then took aim with his pistol at his teammate before deepening his voice, “ _And to keep away the voice that wants to killllllll you. Ha. Ha ha.”_

“Shut up, Caboose,” Tucker groaned before raising up. “Hey. Wait a fucking minute -- where _is_ Church!? He was just here. And we _know_ he couldn’t move fast if his life depended on it. Literally.”

Surprised by the comment, Washington hurriedly made a broad sweep of the environment with his binoculars as Doc began walking away, calling out how it was not his problem. Wash felt a pang of irritation -- how did one of the Blue Simulation Troopers escape his observation so easily?

And it was in that moment Wash’s HUD alerted him to the stimulation of one of his motion trackers he had set, giving him just enough time to turn and duck as a cobalt foot came swinging in from behind him. 

“Christ,” he allowed himself as he slid out of range of another kick, threw aside the binoculars and reached for his combat knife. He needed some space between himself and the Blue if he was going to get any use out of his guns without them being turned against him.

The soldier remained silent, stalking over him, but was confident in stride as he walked around Washington with nothing but closed fists. His head tilted to the left before cracking then to the right. 

It was hauntingly familiar. 

Wash spun his knife, getting it into a more readied position and doing his damnedest to communicate that he knew what he was doing with it. 

The soldier then pulled his fists up, tilting his weight onto the balls of his feet as he readied and -- suddenly, hitting him like a freight train -- it _clicked_ for Washington.

He dropped his shoulders as his eyes widened. “Agent Texas?”

She twitched to the left before pushing forward, “Buenos días, cockbite,” she growled, lunging with a punch meant squarely for Wash’s head that he managed to deflect as he rose to his feet. “Gotta say, Freelancer made the _wrong_ decision for _you_ today!”

Wash tried desperately to see the move coming next, deflecting a punch only to take a knee to the stomach, pivoting from her swing to grip his waistline only to barely miss the uppercut going for his jaw. 

They were a blitz of attacks -- perhaps not carrying into the next move, but leaving little chance to think between them once he was hit. 

“Stop!” he yelled, managing a cross block for her kick which sent him into the ground rather than the cliffs like she had been aiming. “I’m not here for Freelancer!”

“That so, Washington?” she roared, making a hit for his shoulder that sent Wash yelping and cringing. Her head tilted at the new found weakness and suddenly Wash felt his arm grabbed and his body being sent across the surface and into the motorcycle. 

He barely had time to blink before she was sitting on his stomach, pinning his arms with her elbow digging his injured shoulder into the rock. 

“Fuck!” he seethed.

“You here for Wyoming?” she snarled. “Spying for him? Getting the read out on why he hasn’t heard from Florida?” She dug her elbow into his shoulder, trying to elicit a yell that Wash bit down hard. “Or are you just a fucking _liar_ like everyone else from Freelancer? I bet that’s it. You’re really from Command. You came with that purple motherfucker, after all. You all here to check on him? See his progress? Or are you sick fucks ready to take him back?” Her visor was nearly pressed up against his. “The Director’s done playing the patient game and you fuckers don’t give a _damn_ so long as the little bits he breaks off are big enough to put in your armors, right? That’s why you’re here.”

Washington’s eyes widened. “What the _fuck_ are you talking about?” he demanded. “I’m not _with_ anyone! I got shot in the back by someone working for Wyoming and I followed their trail here. I heard there was a Level Zero signal -- Wyoming still has his AI so I thought it could have been him and came to check it out. I have _nothing_ to do with you. I had no idea you were even still around!”

Tex snarled, “I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t believe me? Check my armor,” Wash reasoned. “I ripped out anything Freelancer could track me with. I am _not_ working for them anymore. They left me for dead. I don’t take that kindly.”

Glaring at him, Tex sat up, still not letting up on holding down his arms. She leered over him. “Well, tough shit if that’s the case,” she hissed. “Because I still don’t like you. I don’t like _any_ memories from the past. And I’m dealing with enough crap right now so I might just kill you to keep things more simple around here.”

Judging by the way she glared soulessly through her visor, Wash had no reason to think she wasn’t being _brutally_ honest with the situation and immediately began struggling for what he could only assume was his life. Suddenly, however, Tex shook her head. 

“But you mentioned Wyoming... The fucker. I need to know what he’s planning--” she didn’t even look at Wash as she shoved him back into the ground. “But I _really_ don’t trust you. Hm. What to do.”

Thinking fast, Washington began to open his mouth to make an offer when, without warning, his eyes were drawn to a magnificently bright white light over Tex’s shoulder. Standing at the full size of a soldier, a white figure glared down at Tex.

“What the fuck!? You fucking stole my body, you bitch-- Wait... _Tex what the fuck did you steal my body for, holy fuck--”_

Wash’s jaw dropped enough to hit the bottom interior of his helmet as he stared. 

Tex whirled around, clearly upset at seeing the figure beside her. She snapped immediately, “CHURCH! Get the fuck down to base and stay there! I’ll be down with _my_ body in a second--”

As soon as the words “my body” left her speaker, Tex’s body seized up, becoming locked up almost as if just to resist the statement. She looked down to herself and angrily shook her head -- realizing too late that the moment had given Wash the opportunity to slide his limbs out from under her grip and begin to reach for his guns. 

“The Alpha!?” he yelled, reaching for his pistol. “It’s _here!?”_

The white figure cocked its head. “The what?”

Immediately, Tex’s head whirled around, facing Wash. _Rage_ was pouring from her being and, without warning, before Wash could fully pull his gun, her fist was making contact with his visor and everything was going black.

* * *

In retrospect, Tex had no idea why she was so surprised to have Freelancer coming back to haunt them so soon. They were still at one of the simulation bases. She was still an escaped agent _and_ escaped property in their eyes. The Alpha would _of course_ be under close supervision. 

She had just wanted some more time. If, for no other reason, than to figure out the problem with Omega’s disappearance. One that seemed to have an answer closer by than she liked to admit.

Her gaze was set on the tied up agent in their brig even as Tucker and Church argued like toddlers just behind her.

“Tucker! Pay fucking attention, there’s _real difficult shit_ going on right now. No one cares about your dumb feud with Caboose,” Church snapped, his projecting light growing and fading in intensity with each emphasis he put on words.

“Real difficult shit like _constantly being threatened by your only living teammate?”_ Tucker asked critically.

“No,” Church snapped back. “Difficult shit like _your girlfriend stealing your fucking body.”_ She could feel his gaze falling on her again. “By the way, welcome back, bitch.”

Tex bothered to look just enough away from the unconscious Freelancer to glare over her shoulder at Church. “The only _bitch_ here is the whiny bitch who was caught off guard and unable to protect himself. So shut the fuck up, Church,” she snapped before looking back.

“Ha ha, I _like_ having Tex back, I take anything I ever said when she wasn’t looking away,” Tucker laughed. “Thanks, Tex. You’re the only one who knows how to make Church really shut up.”

“Okay, first off, I shut up all the time. It’s called _not engaging_ with you motherfuckers,” Church reminded Tucker. “Second off, _of course_ I was caught off guard. _Who thinks to be constantly alert about someone else jumping into their body!?”_

At that statement, Tex felt another shove she could deflect. The host AI of Church’s stolen body was not strong, but he sure as fuck was persistent. And more than a little pissed.

“You were about to lose it anyway,” Tex announced. “This AI is hardwired to this body and he’s _not_ really sitting quietly as either of us use it anymore.”

“Shouldn’t ghosts override AI?” Church demanded almost childishly.

Tex glared at him but knew better than to respond.

Tucker grew a quizzical look and shifted his gaze between the two of them. His hand curiously scratched at his neck. “Wait, I don’t understand,” he spoke up. “How do you possess something that doesn’t have a soul, like a droid? Can you like... possess animals and shit too? Like what are the limits of possession? Can you possess a rock!?”

Church stared at him. “Why a rock?”

“No reason--”

“Tucker, I know why you want to know about the rock. And _no_ , I never possessed a rock while I was gone,” Tex snapped. She had _sincerely_ considered deleting any recordings she downloaded from the observation deck that involved security footage of Tucker and his private time.

Tucker went rigid. “You... know--”

“Yes, and you should be _very_ ashamed of yourself,” Tex responded.

He lowered his head. “It gets lonely out here--”

“Tex,” Church interrupted impatiently. He stepped up to her, head tilted. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Oh, well _that’s_ a change from the usual,” she replied sardonically.

“Are you saying the AI in my body isn’t going to let me use it?” he demanded. 

“If it continues to adapt and figure out how to resist, yeah,” Tex responded. 

“How can a body resist us?” he wondered out loud, scratching at his head almost comically. “Does that mean other AI can still interact with us like that?”

“The AI from Freelancer all have abilities,” Tex answered slowly. “Some are _very_ similar to the way you inhabit and possess bodies like this one. In fact, I’m actually back for a reason. Seems like _someone_ didn’t fucking deal with their half of the bargain we made and, once again, I have to do the heavy lifting.”

“Bargain?” Church snorted. “What bargain?”

“I told you the AI I had left,” she reminded him. “The really aggressive one? The one who would have been _very_ happy if I had caved and just fucking ended all of you right then and there? He’s gone. He’s able to jump armors by using the shared radio channel you use. And I can’t help but notice that one of your men hasn’t been acting the same since I left.” Her eyes narrowed. “Caboose.”

Tucker turned and looked at Church, excitement radiating from him. “Ha! Did you hear that! I’ve been _telling_ you something was wrong with him!” He looked to Tex. “I told him and he didn’t listen!”

Church grunted. “Tucker, there’s a very fine line between _not listening_ and _not caring._ I like to think I walk that line every day of my life.”

Ignoring Church’s commentary, Tucker put his hands on his hips and looked seriously at Tex. “He’s also refusing to go by Caboose. He says it was never his name, but I know it has to be because when it was my turn on laundry day I saw it sewed into the crotch of all his underwear.”

She tilted her head. “The _crotch?”_ she questioned.

“Yeah, I asked him why and he told me to shut up and put myself in a blender so he could drink the essence of my life’s failures,” Tucker said with a shrug.

“That’s melodramatic,” Church scoffed.

Tex glared at Church, crossing her arms. “Gee. Wonder where Omega gets it from.”

He looked back at her completely clueless. “Huh?”

“O’Malley,” Tucker chimed in.

Scowling, Tex turned to face Tucker more. “What?”

“O’Malley is what he’s calling himself,” Tucker explained. He shifted his gaze between them a few times. “But why did you say ‘Omega’? Isn’t that a band?”

“No, it’s the Greek alphabet,” Church snapped before turning a suspicious look toward Tex. “And that guy -- the one you said was a Freelancer -- he said _Alpha_ up on the cliffs. What was _that_ about?”

“Wait, isn’t that the name of our base? Was he talking about us?” Tucker asked, looking more and more concerned. “Did the Reds hire a Freelancer to get back at us!? Was he coming here--”

“Tucker, the Reds don’t have to hire Freelancers because, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Blue Team does a pretty professional job of killing themselves,” Church hissed. His gaze never left Tex. “He was looking at _me_ when he said it.”

Tex fought the overwhelming urge to kick Washington’s unconscious ass even further for bringing everything to a crash and burn long before she was ready for it. But instead there was Tucker grabbing at his head. 

“I don’t get it -- if _we_ didn’t get a Freelancer and the _Reds_ didn’t send him, then why the fuck is he here? Nothing’s making any sense!” he yelled out. 

“And why is _your_ AI in Caboose’s head?” Church pressed. 

“Don’t try to blame this mess on _me_ , Church,” Tex growled. “Might I remind you, I had _everything_ perfectly under control until _you_ decided to go turncoat and alert the Reds for some stupid fucking reason and got _me_ blown up. So, if we’re going to blame _anyone_ for having Freelancer Command send someone else to this canyon, my bets are on blaming _you!”_

Tucker looked like his head was ready to spin off his neck. “ _Freelancers_ have a command too!? How many commands are there!?”

“Less than you imagine.”

Tex felt herself stand on edge, even the native AI to the body took surprise at hearing the voice. She turned and leered into the hold where Washington was sitting up, helmet still off and hands secured behind his back. So she could at least take comfort in knowing they had adequately secured him.

Washington’s eyes were as trained on her as her’s were on him. 

“Oh, neat. The prisoner’s up,” Church said with about as much interest as he carried about anything that wasn’t himself or Tex. “Are you going to kill him now and give me back my body?”

“It’s not yours and you’re _not_ getting it back,” Tex growled as she neared Washington and stood towering over him. 

The agent didn’t flinch back, but he obviously wasn’t happy with being so close to her either. His scowl set more on his features as he tilted his head. “You took away my helmet and weapons. So you _know_ that I wasn’t lying about having torn out everything that linked me back to Command. So you _know_ they didn’t send me.”

“I don’t know _anything_ other than I don’t like you,” Tex hissed, lowering down to squat at eye level with him. “And I know that _very_ well.”

“Do I worry you _that_ much?” he asked. 

“No, because I remember how good you were in Freelancer,” Tex scoffed. “More importantly, I remember how much _better_ I was than you.”

“Then you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Oh, I’m not worried, I’m perfectly in control here,” Tex reminded him. “But I think you’re aware of some things I _don’t_ like you being aware of. Things about me. Things about the AI here. Things I _really_ would rather keep under wraps from someone sniveling back to Command.”

“No one will be doing any sniveling,” Washington said clearly. “Especially not me. Not only _can’t_ I, but I _wouldn’t_ even if I could. I’m not _with_ Command anymore. I’m rogue.”

She clenched her fists. “Why don’t I believe you that this is all some big misunderstanding?”

“You don’t have to,” Washington answered immediately. “You just have to know that Wyoming is my focus right now. And from your behavior, I’m going to guess you don’t want Wyoming around either. So as long as you and I both know he’s around here and both know that he’s a piece of shit we’d rather have stopped, we aren’t each other’s enemy.”

“Omega... Freelancer... Washington... Wyoming...” 

Tex held off her response, turning instead to look at Church’s projection. She wanted to believe that she didn’t see it, but there was a flickering out of his light before he looked at Tucker. She tried to rationalize what it could mean.

“I don’t like any of this,” Church announced to Tucker.

“You’re _following_ any of this?” Tucker asked critically before looking to Tex. “Who the _fuck_ is Wyoming?”

“Someone we don’t want to deal with right now,” she responded as she began to stand up. “We need to worry about what to do with my old AI that’s in Caboose’s head right now. As long as there are open channels he can access in the canyon, I’m worried he’ll keep jumping to get away from us.” She turned enough to glare at Washington again and sneered, “But _at least_ if nothing else this asswipe’s saying is true, we know he doesn’t have a radio to Command. Which means this O'Malley can _only_ be in the canyon and not get any further.”

Washington sat back, eyes narrowing. “So that’s the AI who inherited that trait. The ability to jump implants.”

“Inherited?” Tucker called out, not noticing Church flickering beside him. “I thought AI were _computers._ How do they _inherit_ stuff.”

Tex pulled out the pistol at her body’s side and aimed it at Washington. “ _You_ need to learn to shut your mouth unless I _ask_ you to talk. Got it?”

“Wait,” Washington spoke up again, apparently just ignoring the warnings. “You said you were worried about a connection to Command for Omega to jump to,” he restated. “Well, I have bad news for you. _I’m_ not going to have that. Obviously. But the medic you guys sent to the other base? He _does_ have a direct channel to them. One he’s keeping open at all times.”

“Well, shit,” Tucker huffed. “This gets more complicated.” 

“Yeah, well _you’re_ about to uncomplicate it,” Tex announced, looking to Tucker. “Go to Red Base and take out that radio on the medic in _any_ way you can.”

“Me?” Tucker squeaked.

“Him!?” Church questioned.

“Yeah, why not _you_ , Miss Freelancer Badass?” Tucker demanded. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed in all your _observing,_ but it’s not like we’re the best soldiers around. We’re not even the best soldiers _in this canyon._ And it’s a canyon full of losers.”

“Yeah, Tex,” Church growled, his glow growing stronger and more consistent again. “You’re completely capable of this yourself. Tucker’s just going to fuck it up. C’mon.”

“You’re right, I would if I could,” Tex replied before waving to herself. “But this body is a piece of shit and I don’t know if I can handle the sort of stealth and power concentration I’d need to do that successfully without having a body of my _own_ without a host AI to fight with.”

“Then just build yourself one with that kit we’ve been using as a foot rest in the rec room,” Tucker groaned. “We have two. I keep pointing it out to you guys--”

“And _I_ keep telling you that I don’t want to,” Church yelled. “I was _perfectly fine_ until Tex took _my_ body. Now everything’s gone to hell and I don’t have limbs to build one myself.”

“We couldn’t if we wanted to anyway,” Tex responded. “And I don’t trust Tucker to not put things on backwards.”

“Why _couldn’t_ you?” Tucker asked suspiciously.

“There’s a safety feature to keep AI from self-constructing,” Washington spoke up again. He stopped the moment Tex turned the pistol back on him. 

“You’re a slow learner,” Tex growled. 

“What does AI protocol have to do with us?” Church demanded.

“Don’t listen to him, Church,” Tex snapped. Her eyes remained on Washington. “What is that you feel is _so_ important that you have to say right now, Wash? I see it in your eyes.”

He scowled. “I want a truce.”

“Dude, you can’t ask for a truce _after_ an ass kicking,” Tucker joked. “What are you going to offer?”

“Someone _competent_ to build the robot bodies you need,” he reasoned. “If there’s a kit, I can do it. Then I can help _you_ with your AI problem and anything else... but I want Tex to help me take down Wyoming and his friend who shot me. I’m in this for me. I’m not interested in Command or anything else hidden in your box canyon.” His eyes flickered around the room before returning to Tex. “Besides, you know as well as I do that Wyoming is going to be a problem for _you_ if I don’t put an end to him being a problem for _me_. And your team here doesn’t seem like they can handle many more problems.”

Tex glared at him, but she could see Church shrug. 

“Well, he’s not wrong about that last fact.”

“I’m right about a _lot_ of facts here,” Washington replied. “And Tex here knows it. Don’t you, Tex?”

She bit back before looking to Tucker and Church. “Tucker, if I give you a gun and an unarmed prisoner in handcuffs, do you think you can _maybe_ handle guard duty and watch him putting together those robot bodies?”

“Baby, I can watch all day--”

“I _will_ still kill you without remorse,” Tex reminded him.

“Oh, right. Yeah, I can do that.”

She turned her eyes back to Washington and slowly holstered her pistol. “Today’s your lucky day, Washington,” she informed him. “I’m not ready to kill you. Yet.”

He looked to the others and huffed. “I’d say this is the start to a beautiful friendship, but I feel that’s neither true nor going to meet a proper audience here.”

Church groaned. “Oh, great, it’s a _nerd_  Freelancer.”

* * *

The details of escape were still not looking good, but they were _workable._

At least, Washington continued to tell himself as much as Texas had moved his restraints to handcuffs only, made sure at least ten times that he carried no extra weapons, and then checked Tucker’s weapons twice as much to not have the safety on.

There was promise of a talk between the two of them later, and lots of death threats if he did anything out of line, but the AI in a seemingly soldier’s body was much more concerned with taking off with the Alpha somewhere. 

Which was even more call for Wash to hold off on escape. He had _no idea_ what was going on in the canyon, why the Alpha was out and about, what _Tex_ was doing popping up on his radar when she had _purposefully_ been the furthest thing from his thoughts since his last day incarcerated, and what any of this had to do concerning Wyoming. 

He had to stay at least a little longer to get an idea of what it all meant. And, more than that, what it meant for _him._

There was also the matter of the Blue soldiers. 

“This sucks,” the one named Tucker groaned as he plopped down on the beaten up couch and held his gun in a _completely_ unprepared position. 

Wash stared at the box by the recliner -- as he had been informed before, it was just there. A literal android building kit with scuff marks and beaten edges from being used to prop up feet.

“So Command has to know,” he decided as he knelt down beside it, looking over the instructions. He only paused when he heard the tell-tale click of a gun cocking. He looked back to the soldier. “What?”

“Tex is getting _really_ bitchy about Command, and you just _mentioned_ Command out of the blue. _Excuse_ me for getting a little... uh...” he paused, head tilting back as he thought of the word. 

Raising a brow, Wash offered, “ _Suspicious?”_

"Yeah, I guess we can go with that,” Tucker shrugged before adjusting his spot on the couch some. His head bobbed toward the window then back to Washington. “So... you _are_ with Command? Because I’ll be honest, dude, Tex might come right back in here and strangle you if you are--”

“I’m not,” he clarified as he tugged some, testing the strength and the flexibility of his restraints before beginning to open the kit up. “I just... I guess I have a bad habit of thinking out loud.”

“Man, we all do,” Tucker sighed. “Canyon fever, man. We all lost it at some point.”

“Good to know,” Wash said with very little interest in the conversation continuing. He paused, looking at all the parts before beginning to carefully organize them by layer. “This... is more intimidating than I thought.”

“What? You can’t build it?” Tucker asked, leaning forward to look for himself. “Because if you can’t, dude, Tex might come right back in here and--”

“Kill me,” Wash interrupted. “I’m aware.”

“Wow, you’re sassy,” Tucker snorted.

“I am _not_ sassy. I’m... not content with the circumstances is all,” Wash went for instead as he got to work.

“I don’t blame you,” Tucker laughed. “This is pretty shitty. You got captured by, like, the _lamest_ unit ever. Well... you got captured by Tex. Which is _totally_ understandable. But now you’re a prisoner at Blue Base and that’s dumb as fuck.”

“Outpost Alpha, right?” Wash asked, beginning with the larger parts and already working over the frustration of his restraints.

“Yeah.”

Wash huffed and shook his head. “I guess Command has a sense of humor after all...” He almost sighed _before_ hearing the gun cock behind him. 

“What Command do you keep blabbing about?” Tucker demanded. “I’m serious, dude, you give me the _worst_ vibes. Especially when you’re looking at my friends. So you better tell me who you’re working for. Is it that Freelancer Command? Red Command--”

Unable to help himself, Washington actually laughed, dropping his head and actually _laughing_ at the suggestion. He could see Tucker in his peripheral growing unnerved and was able to compose himself slightly. “ _Red Command?_ Do you honestly still not get it?” he asked Tucker.

Tucker’s body was stiff. “You said there was less than I imagined... are you... what are you saying? There’s less Commands? Reds don’t have a Command?”

“They’re not the only ones,” Wash said, actually rolling his eyes before beginning to construct what seemed to be an arm for the robot unit. 

“What, you don’t think there’s Blue Command? I fucking _know_ there’s Blue Command,” Tucker argued, voice growing tighter. “I contacted them myself. My helmet has the connection to Blue Command--”

“But Tex sure doesn’t seem that worried about _your_ radio, does she?” Wash asked almost snidely. 

Tucker sat in his spot, stiff as a board, but it wasn’t hard to tell that he was squirming. He didn’t seem able to talk until finally asking, “What the fuck are we _fighting for?”_ he demanded. 

“Oh, no,” Wash said, shaking his head. “You want more heartbreaking and Santa’s-not-real talks, take them up with your _other_ Freelancer buddy. I don’t know how much of this she even wants you to know. If she hasn’t told you already.” He paused and then gave Tucker a look over. “I don’t want you to take this as an invitation to shoot me now, but even you holding a gun to my back, I’d still rather take my odds with you over upsetting her.”

“No, that’s totally fair,” Tucker agreed before letting out an aggravated sigh and lowering his head. “Fuck. Man. Someone should tell the Reds. This whole fucking thing is a _joke._ Like what the fuck.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Wash huffed as he continued working. “It’s not like their delusions are going to effect you any. Let them believe it. You just need to concentrate on keeping yourself alive.”

“Okay, even if I agreed with that,” Tucker responded, “I’d disagree on the basis that _half_ my team is ghosts right now, specifically because we’re _really_ good at killing each other, my other teammate is possessed by an evil AI, and Sheila is broken at least until Tex gets done.”

Wash hesitated before bothering to ask, “Sheila?”

“Our tank’s AI,” Tucker shrugged.

Feeling likes his eyes were about to bulge out of his skull, Wash turned to face Tucker in shock. “You have a _tank_ with an AI!? Why!?”

“Um... to blow things up?” Tucker said looking just as confused by Wash’s confusion. “What _else_ would we have a tank for? But you really shouldn’t worry about it. Tex took an afternoon to get her online last time we broke her and she just started working when we came in here so--”

No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than Tucker nearly fell off the couch with the booming shake from an explosion outside. Washington just barely braced the work he had already finished on the first robot before it all went still again. He glared at Tucker.

“Yeah, dude, I don’t think you’d want to get on Tex’s bad side now,” Tucker joked. “I think she’s got Sheila back online.”

Gritting his teeth, Wash thought about how much he hated to agree. 


	17. Recovery Two V: Broken Records

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North and South execute a risky maneuver to shake the trail of Project Freelancer for good, and in doing so find a slew of conflicts of interest for themselves and for their new employers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter took a bit to finish up, but every time I reach another ending chapter with this fic I just feel completely revitalized. I love this AU and just this story a heck of a lot so it means the world to hear from those of you that have been so wonderful about letting me hear back with each update. It means the world to me.
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @meirelle, @turtlesinsweaters, alllula, nota4, and Yin for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

South could remember the very first time their team of Freelancers were assembled. It was based off ranking in their basic training, their points earned on simulation bases, and an unknown affinity from the Director and Counselor. 

At the time she thought it had been potential. In retrospect, she realized it had been elements, _ideas_ of what sorts of manipulations and mind games they could be used best for. 

She could remember the first time Maine caught her attention. He had been just another face among the fifty agents who had been selected from the various branches of the military at first -- large, intimidating, but not particularly someone who caught her interest until she watched a sparring match in which he broke another competing agent’s legs like toothpicks. 

It had been ruthless, not particularly eloquent in execution, but all the while South was thinking of how lucky this Agent Maine was compared to the other guy. 

Joke was on them. Years later, the abandoned agent was probably at home with a veteran retirement. South was playing chess with a board she couldn’t see all the pieces for. And Maine... Maine didn’t seem to be home at all in the domed head of the monster she was watching obliterate a base. 

“If these guys had any sense, they’d stop running out of the buildings to answer their screaming buddies,” South commented into her radio as she moved to the next hiding spot and watched as the Meta grabbed a soldier by the throat and threw him into a firing line.

“Got nothing for loyalty these days, hm, Sis?” North’s voice called back over the radio.

“It’s not really gotten anyone I know very far, North,” she reminded him a hiss just before watching the Meta burst into the facility door. “He’s in. Don’t know what’s in there that’s so important for him to get, but he’s booking it to get it. And I don’t know if any of these bastards are alive to put a fight up for his way back out.”

“I’m sure your new friends would be interested in what he was stealing, though, right?” North asked. “Here’s my recommendation. Lay low until he comes back out, then I’ll track his movements as he leaves the area while you run in, use one of those hijacking computer thingies your spy buddies gave you, and then we go find some beers for a job well done. That sound good to you, South? ... _South?_  I don’t like it when you go silent.”

“Probably because you’ve not been able to go silent _yourself_ since we were born, North,” South hissed.

“I think North’s actually concerned that Maine killed a bunch of people, but you’re hiding just outside the building he went in,” Theta piped in.

“North,” South growled. “Get. Him. _Off_ our radio!”

“Sorry, buddy,” North’s voice said more softly for the AI than she had ever heard for herself in all the years they’d spent together under the program. South couldn’t help but shake her head at it.

“Alright, South, _seriously_ , I need to hear your thoughts on the plan of action here,” North continued. “What are we looking at? What’s the time frame? Do you have any visuals yet?” 

South stared forward, leering at the building, listening to the failing gunfire from within, the cut off screams, the clanging within. 

Taking it all in, she then glanced down to her pocket where the drive resided. She remembered how she handed it off to the fake CT, how he asked whether or not she really believed she was better than the _real_ CT. Why she thought she could get out alive when so many could not. 

And then it all clicked.

“North,” South said, beginning to carry forward. 

“Yes,” he responded, irritation apparent.

“I’m moving in,” she explained as she raced to the side of the building, flattened by the door, and waited quietly. 

“That is _not_ what I suggested. South? This is a _terrible_ idea. Terrible. Seriously, South, we need to just play it safe. Even your mysterious computer friends aren’t fans of us getting involved. Remember? _We’re here to observe._ Whatever you’re thinking--”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” South hissed. “We’re not psychic twins, North. We’re not connected at the ear. _You don’t know what I’m thinking._ So stop acting like it.”

There was a pregnant pause where North was no doubt scrambling to think of the right rebuttal when Theta chipped in instead with, “We won’t have visuals inside the building, South! And without a schematic we won’t be much help with our thermals.”

“Good thing I’m not putting this up for debate then,” South snapped. “I’m in charge here. I’m the one actually _in_ the field. And I’m also the one with the connections to Control. So you’re going to _listen_ to me whether you like it or not. Got it?”

“Got it,” the two said in unison. 

“Okay, I’m going into stealth mode, and I’m going to turn my radio off in order to keep you assholes from pestering me,” she continued.

“Now, South--”

“Don’t _South_ me, North,” she hissed. “I’m going in there and running a scan.”

“Why can’t you do that _after_ he leaves? Like _my_ plan. The one that’s _safe?”_ North demanded, getting more pressing intone each time. 

“Because I need time to steal information _and_ set explosive charges around the building _before_ he comes out and get him to chase me,” South announced. “Something _you’re_ going to help make happen by shooting him to get him angry and _then_ shooting him to get him off my trail when I feel like we’ve made a convincing enough scene.”

“Convincing enough scene for _what!?”_ North nearly yelled.

South entered the building and pulled out the putty charges from her belt. “For my prompt and early dismissal from the Recovery Unit, North,” she answered. “I’m _not_ the next CT. And I’m _not_ going to give them a reason to look for me.”

She got to the first computer that wasn’t smashed she could find and immediately inserted the drive. “Time’s on the clock,” she informed her brother. “Make your shots count.”

Without any further instruction, she turned off her radio.

* * *

"South, this is a _bad_ idea! South, listen to me for just once-- _South!”_ North called out before lowering his head in defeat and letting out an agitated “ _Dammit”_ before returning to the sights of his sniper rifle.

He didn’t miss the glow from Theta projecting over his shoulder again, little head bobbing to the side. 

“I can try to monitor her from here...” he began to offer.

“Don’t,” North grunted as he set his focus on the exit that Maine and South would have to leave from. “Last time we got too ambitious with your functions, it almost cost us getting caught by this guy. I don’t think it’s a risk we really want to take right now.”

The little AI grew hesitant, tilting his sprite back as if to look more cautiously toward North. “Um. But what about South--”

“As far as she seems to care, we’re at least following her orders,” North huffed, locking his gaze. “So we’re going to trust South’s plan. Not because it’s a good one or because it’s one I agree with, but because I’m just following her orders now no matter how stupid or useless they end up being.”

Theta hummed but otherwise didn’t voice how much he _didn’t_ like that answer. 

North sighed. 

“I’m sorry, Theta. I’m just trying to earn South’s trust back. I need her to know I’m on her side no matter what,” he explained.

Nodding, Theta followed North’s gaze toward the Freelancer facilities. “I understand that. Trust is important... right?” he asked, looking worriedly to North for reassurance. 

“ _Very_ important--” North stopped as soon as the explosions began happening. He gritted his teeth. “Goddammit, South.”

“She likes blowing things up,” Theta observed.

“We all do,” North sighed. “It’s a genetic thing, I bet.”

Theta looked around before tilting his head back at North. “Was that a joke?”

“Yup, a bad one,” North acknowledged before seeing South bolting from the facility with fire and smoke billowing behind her. “Alright, the party’s starting. Theta, get ready to take full control of my HUD and providing real-time feed for my reticle.”

“On it!” 

He watched as South made no waste of time in her race toward some of the vehicle docks near the entrance, but already his gaze was locking on the exit door. She wanted their old friend angry and she wanted him kept that way for some big theatrical show. 

Being a sniper, North was in a unique position to provide both that and some cover once things went proverbially _south_ on them. 

“NORTH!” South roared over the radio as the clashing and clanging from the facility became louder. 

“Oh, we’re on speaking terms now,” North joked. 

“Shut the fuck up -- listen. Do _not_ go for a kill shot. Do _not_ put a bullet in that big, dumb domed head of his!” South ordered. “If I’m going to get Freelancer off our trail, then Maine has to come out of this alive.”

“Well, lucky for you,” North voiced just as the white and brown armored man burst out of the building, North immediately took out his right shoulder with a single shot, “I have _impeccable_ aim.”

“Do your job,” South grouched before turning on her heels and whistling for their old teammate. 

“Don’t have to tell me twice, South, alright? I’m on it,” North replied. “You just get him to wreck some things and head over to those vehicles--”

“I _know_ my own fucking plan, North!” South yelled, using her pistol to take a shot at the dazed Maine and redirecting his path to her before cutting out her radio again.

“So rude,” North said, continuing to watch as South took cover from the Brute Shot’s fire. 

Theta crossed his arms. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?” North asked, firing at Maine’s boot and earning a look around from Maine, desperately searching for the source of gunfire. 

“You said that you wanted to earn her trust, but you’re pushing her buttons on purpose. Just like you used to,” Theta pointed out.

Taking another shot only for Maine to wise up and head for cover himself, North gritted his teeth and dared to glance at Theta before returning to his sights. “Now’s not really the time for this--”

“Actions speak louder than words, North, but your words _still_ matter, y’know,” Theta pointed out. “Can’t we all just be nicer to each other?”

“Theta, siblings are hardly ever nice,” North acknowledged before his HUD began alerting him to an approaching presence. He glanced away from the fight between Maine and South to see where Theta’s attention was being redirected. “Theta!?”

“Warthog coming up! Two people are in it--” Theta went rigid and looked out. He could almost visibly swell up. “Oh my gosh! North! North! It’s Delta, I know his signal!”

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” North growled. “York, what the _hell_ are you doing here!?” 

“He can help South!” Theta called out just before a car went flying through the air.

“He can get himself killed is what he can do, goddammit,” North hissed mostly to himself before locking in on Maine and firing another shot only for it to go right through him. His eyes widened. “He has a projection. _Fuck._ South! South, pick up your damn radio, and get out of--”

In the distance, a vehicle’s engine roared and North was able to catch the tail end of South taking off down the very road they had used to get to the facility. Just as North was about to suggest.

The self-satisfied feeling Theta had in the back of North’s mind was somewhat disconcerting. 

“I think she’s got this,” Theta chimed in.

“Which means I need to figure out what to do about York and our other--” North pulled up his gaze to see York in the Warthog in the distance. What he _wasn’t_ expecting was for the other party to also be someone very familiar. His eyes widened. “Carolina?”

“She’s alive? York was right?” Theta asked. He paused before adding, “Woohoo! Go York! I believed in you! Almost.”

The moment didn’t last for long, North watched in slight horror as they took off toward Maine in their Warthog only for it to be yet another illusion. The real Maine took no time in then completely obliterating the Warthog with their friends still in it. 

North nearly dropped his rifle. “No-- York! _York!_ Answer me-- damn! _Damn!”_

As South had planned, Maine pursued her, but even more fortunately for her plan it was at a distant pace due to the time he took to go after Carolina and York. 

Which left _their_ next move up in the air. 

At least, it would have if North wasn’t already packing up and heading to the Mongoose they came up on. 

“What are we going to do down there, North?” Theta asked with genuine curiosity.

“Pay back a debt,” North explained as he started up the vehicle and took off.

“What about South? Will she approve?”

“Probably not,” North acknowledged. “But it’s not really going to stop me from doing it.”

Theta didn’t say one way or the other if he approved. 

* * *

The Meta lost interest in the chase far sooner than South could have ever expected. 

Whatever initial spark there had been, either from anger at her brash attack or hunger for more equipment and AI, died out only yards away from the Freelancer facilities. 

South had been watching him cautiously in her mirrors, making sure to maintain an acceptable distance until the monster of a former teammate took a sudden and unexpected left, disappearing into the terrain before South could get her vehicle completely turned back around.

She waited for a moment, reluctantly turning on her dreaded HUD trackers, and waiting in silence for something, anything to disturb the momentary peace. 

When it didn’t come, her heartbeat became more rapid and anxious.

“Well,” she said lowly, starting up her engine again and beginning back for the facility. “Better find a good body for the next part.”

It wasn’t hard, not with the carnage Maine -- the _Meta --_ had left behind for her. The charred remains of many unfortunate soldiers were easy enough to find, as were the skid marks of another vehicle having left, an opposite of her own fake escape and that of the Meta’s free range rampage. 

She just had to find a damaged enough body and then she painstakingly began the switch.

There was still the uncertainty of the compound -- whether or not there was anything else willing to explode now that so much of the place was already on fire -- but she was quick and she was _determined._

Once the body was stripped, South studied the face of the soon to be former Recovery Two, found herself fairly enough satisfied by the preliminaries, and then began to take off her own identifiable armor, starting with her helmet. 

Before, in combat training, the Director had told them that a good Freelancer Agent would wear their power armor like a second skin, was disciplined and modified specifically for those wearing them. That they could take off and put on their armors in the time it would take to answer his simple question: _what are you fighting for?_

South had her answer at the ready, and likewise she stripped herself to her survival suit and the corpse to its in a record amount of time before she began refitting her old armor bits and pieces over the body. 

“Sorry,” South said, gathering up the armor the body had been in originally and carrying it toward a flaming pit from the underground labs. “But better you than me.”

She dropped the pieces into the flames and began to make her way to the bike. She hesitated by her brand new doppleganger. Her eyes locked on the helmet.

“I have to meet my brother” she explained, pulling out her pistol. “Who knows what trouble he’s in without me.” She pointe the gun at the lifeless body’s head. “I’m sure you understand,” 

She pulled the trigger and watched the crack of her old helmet splitting open.

It’d take a lot longer for someone to recognize that it wasn’t her face when there no longer was one. 

Everything was working according to plan. 

*

South’s fingers dug into her palms as she finished listening to North’s so-called report. Her teeth were gnashing and it took everything in her to not immediately go for his throat.

“ _You gave him your vehicle!?”_ she roared before pointing to the smoke billowing in the distance. “I blew up everything else! Did you miss that part? Were you too busy seeing your old boyfriend to not notice I was fucking _escaping with my life?”_

Crossing his arms, North looked the furthest thing from amused by her. “Calm down.”

She pointed angrily at him. “You don’t _get_ to tell me to calm the fuck down, North. Not anymore. _Not after you fuck us so badly!”_

Her anger was so concentrated on her brother she barely could muster up a glare toward the red and blue glow of his AI when it appeared just over his shoulder, rubbing its hands together nervously. “Technically we can all still ride in a single Mongoose--”

“Don’t act like you’re a part of this conversation!” South barked at the AI. 

Putting his foot down, North shook his head at South. “Calm _down._ Theta’s part of this conversation just as much as I am. _And_ he happens to be right. A Mongoose carries two passengers just fine.”

“You were late to the rendezvous,” South reminded him angrily. “I thought something thad gone wrong.”

“I was late because I _walked_ , South, not because I aim to disappoint you.” he argued back.

“Really? See, I thought you _were_ aiming to disappoint me, to make me look bad. I was actually going to _compliment_ you on what a fantastic job you were doing with that. But now I see you’re just _incompetent,”_ South roared back.

North scowled and shook his head. “Now listen--”

“NO!” South screamed. “Now _you ‘now listen’_ me here! Got it?” She waited, taking a step back before shaking her head and pointing at North again. “You don’t get it. Now that you went and chatted with your buddy, if _anything_ should happen to him and he or his stupid fucking AI get caught, Freelancer and him can make a deal, and he’ll say that he saw you and me in the field working together, that _I’m_ not dead, and that chump I thew in my armor isn’t me after all.”

She watched as North smartly didn’t respond before she jumped at him again. 

“Do you have _any_ idea what that means for us? It means Freelancer could _know!_ It means they could make this plan of ours even _harder._ They could send someone after us and make finding a new leg up _impossible_. It means that if I did all this and it _didn’t_ work, Control can find out and our asses _are fucking grass_ because they’ll cancel the deal, pull out, and our only shot out of getting out of all of this alive and scott free are _fucking gone!_ THAT is what this means, North!”

He stared at her before shaking his head. “Are you done yet?”

South threw her fist into the nearest rock facing and ignored the splitting pain in her knuckles. Kevlar body suits were _not_ advanced marine armor. 

Taking a breath and shaking his head he moved closer to South. “Look, I understand your concerns. I _do,_ alright? I understand not wanting to trust anyone. But I really believe that everything will turn out alright here.”

She turned enough to glare right at him and shake her head. “Oh, that’s _comforting_ , North.”

“It should be,” North responded earnestly. “York has no reason to go to Freelancer. And no reason to let himself get caught. It looks to me like there’s a pretty big secret for himself kept there, too.”

Narrowing her eyes, South tossed back her head and waited expectantly for her brother to continue. 

North frowned and took a deep breath before opening again to look at her. “He found Carolina.”

There was a beat of silence before South felt her jaw open almost reflexively. Her eyes widened and she turned to leave entirely before stopping and turning back to her brother. 

She wasn’t expecting to be completely stunned by the information. 

"He _what?”_ she finally managed to get out, glaring at her brother. 

“He found Carolina,” North repeated. “York found her. She’s alive.”

South gritted her teeth and took a breath. There were _many_ things she was expecting to hear with North’s news but that Carolina was alive -- out of all of them -- was _not_ one of them. 

The certain numbness she’d felt since the crash, after hearing about so many of them being fallen or turned traitor, was beginning to wear away at last. 

“Well,” she snarled, looking away. “Guess it’s true what they say. You can’t keep a good bitch down.” Her gaze shifted back to North who seemed increasingly uncomfortable with delivering news to her. “I guess now at least we know there’s one other person out there who hates Texas more than I do.”

North looked at South like he almost felt sorry for her. It was enough to make her want to wipe the floor with him. 

“ _What!?”_ she demanded, crossing closer to him again. 

“If that information’s wrong,” North explained slowly, “if your intelligence on Freelancer and Recovery is off at all... then how sure are we that _anything_ we know is the truth?” 

South stared at him before ducking away, putting a hand to her chin. She could feel her heart beginning to pick up.

He was _right._

 _“_ This could ruin everything,” she said lowly. 

“Not if we’re calm--” North began to say only to be cut off by South’s returning glare.

“No, North! Not if we’re calm. _That has fuck-all to do with anything!”_ she snapped back, crossing in front of him. “We are getting this deal _only_ on the basis of providing information. If we don’t have _information_ then we don’t have _shit!_ Do you get that at _all!?”_

Shaking his head, North took a breath and waited. He stared right back at her. “Then what are you proposing we do about it?” he asked.

South stared back at him before putting her hands on her hips. “I’ll contact Control. Just like we’re supposed to. No news there. We tell them _exactly_ what I think they should know and _not_ anything else. _Especially_ not about finding out some of the information is wrong.”

“And if they find out anyway?” North pressed.

“They _won’t_ find out, North!” South yelled back. “You know what, how about this: the only one here who talks to Control is _me._ I don’t need you running your mouth anyway.”

“Fine,” North ground out.

“ _Good,”_ South snapped back. “It’s settled. Control doesn’t need to know that Agent Carolina survived her fun little fall. And for that matter, neither do we. It’s not about to affect our plans at _all.”_

North continued to shake his head before sighing, “If you say so.”

But South ignored him, instead beginning to set their coordinates for Control’s next drop.

*

At the very least, North kept good on his word about staying quiet. 

As much as he pouted, arms crossed and keeping a fair amount of distance from South, he didn’t open his mouth again, even as South set the coordinates and Control once again responded by sending a pod drop. 

That time around, the pod seemed quite a deal larger, twice the security measures and an even thicker metal as far as she could tell by knocking her hand against it. 

When she set in the code, Control’s communicating screen opened up and it was once again showtime. 

“Greetings, Agent South,” the robotic voice hummed out. “Is it not considered unwise given the circumstances to be dressed down to such minimal attire?”

South huffed and looked slightly North’s way. “Looks like we’ve gotten a bit of a sarcastic streak out of him this time around,” she told her brother. 

North just stared back before returning his gaze more properly to Control’s screen. South couldn’t help but feel somewhat more reassured that North was letting her truly handle it and looked back to the screen herself. 

“There is no sarcasm here,” Control clarified. “Just an observation. If you are fine to leave it at that, we could, of course, just continue.”

“Sure, because I’ve got plenty to report,” South replied. “We watched a former Freelancer bust into the site, like you said he would, and trash the place and everyone in it, too.” Her eyes flickered to North then back to Control. “There weren’t any survivors so, after getting you some information you wanted, I thought it’d be a perfect place to have my _final_ performance as the agent formerly known as Recovery Two, and had a scuffle with the Meta. He left me alone after he figured out I didn’t have anything fancy to give him and took off another direction. East, I think. I lost the armor, set up a scene, and rendezvoused with my brother where we got in contact with you here.”

She waved to the scene around them before looking back at the screen. “I think it all went rather well for being an off the cuff sort of procedure.”

There was a pregnant pause where South almost got ready to hit the machine and fix its signal before Control’s canned voice replied stiffly, “So you decided for yourself that the best course of action was to ignore our established protocol?”

South scowled at the screen. “Yes.”

“That is... _unfortunate,”_ Control replied darkly. “We had been very fond of your position -- it allowed us access to much needed branches of the Project Freelancer archives and was the basis of this relationship.”

“It was also putting me on a short list that would have eventually gotten me killed,” South snapped back. “You’re only looking at this as a negative, I’m looking at it as a positive. Now you have a double agent whose access to records still exists, but now no one’s going to be looking for her. You have the element of _surprise,_ Control. I doubt you’re gonna want to give that up.”

There was a short hum from the other end before a small hatch beneath the screen opened up. 

“Let us see your drive.”

South looked back to North for a moment, getting nothing but radio silence from her brother, before reaching to her pocket, grabbing the drive in question, and inserting it as directed. She watched as the hatch closed.

The computer noisily ran for a moment before Control gave a small sigh.

“As we suspected... the Director of Project Freelancer has continued against orders and is continuing production of copied equipment and some other, harder to decode project.” The computer paused. “This information is very useful to our investigations.”

“Yeah. You’re _welcome,”_ South snapped in response. 

“Your position with us is still rather questionable, Agent South,” Control reminded her darkly. “We agreed on being able to use you for more active projects. Your decision to cut this initiative off at the knees undermines that.”

"What it _does_ is confirm you’re still going to even have me at all,” South countered. “I wasn’t about to become another sitting duck, waiting to be found out like CT was.”

“Agent CT understood the risks and accepted them regardless. Her death at the hands of the Project was unfortunate but still provided us with necessary--”

Slamming her fist against the screen, South shakily released a breath, her eyes narrowing at the screen. “You _don’t_ get to talk about her like that,” she warned before leaning closer to the screen. “But still, _thank_ you, y’know. It feels great having confirmation that I’m still just an expendable loss to you.”

“Apologies for the offense, Agent South,” Control quickly back peddled. “Perhaps I could best make it up to you with a different offer.”

South paused and looked back to her brother. North shrugged in response just before there was a hiss of released air pressure coming from the pod. They both looked as it began to deconstruct itself before them, jaggedly splitting in half from the top. 

“This was going to be your first payment regardless of the information provided today, Agent South,” Control continued to speak.

Only half paying attention to the words, South stepped around the pod curiously. Her eyes widened as she reached the other side and saw for herself as the doors slid down and revealed the inside contents. 

The armor was much like the ones they used for Freelancer, a touch bulkier, more components added to the shoulders and chest piece. The helmet wasn’t like any she had seen before -- a cross between the ODST she had seen worn by the various officers of Recovery and the Rogue helmet Carolina had worn for their years in the program. The bulk of it was dark steel, but the accents matched her old green and orchid armor. 

North looked at her worriedly. “South...” he began to say.

“It is experimental -- based off the armors we have sampled from Freelancer, but with advancements beyond their capabilities,” Control explained. 

She ran her hands over the chest plate, feeling a smirk grow on her face. “More advanced...” she repeated.

North finally stepped up, apparently unable to take it much longer. “Is any of this even safe?” he demanded from Control.”

“As far as our computer simulations can tell.”

He glared at her. “South.”

Ignoring her brother, South grabbed the helmet first. “Alright, Control,” she said as she tried it on. “We’ll get a move on the next part of your plans.”

Tried as she might, she couldn’t vanquish her amusement with how upset North looked at the development.

* * *

When Theta experienced confusion or concern, North bit his lip. It was a sensation he had never really had before Theta implanted, but it was one that he was very familiar with now.

It was a sensation he experienced as he stood by, watching South assemble her new power armor. 

Arms crossed, North sat by, boiling. He hardly turned his head when Theta projected. The AI kicked his feet and rubbed at the back of his head. And North ignored it, as did South. 

There was a wide grin across his sister’s features, her eyes twinkling as she watched her hands run over the curves and grooves of the new, sleek armor. North didn’t like that it was such a startling reminder of old Christmas mornings with her, watching her impishly moving toward her own stock of gifts and counting how many were made out to each of them. 

He wondered how long it had been since he had seen her that happy. 

And it made him sick that it was for _this._

 _“_ North...” Theta said hesitantly.

As always, the AI seemed to know exactly what was going to be said next. But North couldn’t hold back, not even for Theta. 

He stepped up to South and the new armor set, placing his hands on his hips. “Okay, I’m sorry but are we _really_ acting like this is normal or sane, South?” he demanded.

Her eyes flickered up to him, always so icy and fierce. “You saying it’s _not,_ brother?” she hissed back.

“They said it was _experimental,_ South,” he reminded her.

“I was fucking paying attention, North. I’m _aware_ that there’s risk,” she snapped. “You know what else was risky? _Trusting goddamn Project Freelancer!”_ She stood at full height, still shorter than him by a head, but in her anger she almost seemed to be growing. “What do you want me to do, North?” March onto this raid with _no_ armor? _That’d_ really be _low risk!”_

Feeling like he needed to pull out his hair, North stepped even closer to her. “Can you give up on hating me just long enough to think this through!?” he begged.

South looked at him like his head had just morphed into a worm before she threw up her arms. “Are you fucking serious!?” she demanded. “None of this is about _you._ It’s the _South Show!”_

 _“_ Then act like it,” North dared. “Stop making stupid, reckless decisions out of spite to me and make the _right_ ones instead.”

Theta wrung his hands. “Um...”

South stared in his face, leering into his eyes. “My decisions are _not_ about you,” she told him clearly. “They’re in _spite_ of _Freelancer._ They’re about showing the Director, his little goons, and all the other hotshot agents what kind of soldier they missed out on having. That they missed out on letting serve in the _real_ fucking war.”

North didn’t back down, narrowing his eyes at his twin instead. “That worth your life?”

“It’s worth a hell of a lot more,” she snapped back. 

She turned and walked back to the armor, bending down and scooping up the new helmet. With a pivot, she threw the helmet at North with all her might but he still managed to catch it.

“Have your AI buddy run diagnostics on that if it’ll make you happy,” she ordered. “i don’t need any surprises or the armor locking up. Not when we’re meeting with Control’s team and beginning the next phase.” 

Sighing, North found himself shaking his head. “You mean the charge on Command for its records?” he asked critically. “That you want to do with half an assembled team you’ve never met before? In an experimental armor you’ve never worn before?”

Theta appeared again, tilting his head. _Don’t you trust her?_

South stiffened angrily. “Yes,” she gritted back. “You still in?”

North released one last sigh and nodded to Theta. “Run the diagnostics, Theta.”

“On it!” the AI said cheerfully before disappearing. 

When he drew his attention back to his sister, North looked back to South in time to see her shoulders drop in relief. Their gazes stayed locked on each other for a moment longer. Then, unexpectedly, South breathed, “Thanks.”

Biting his lip, North just nodded to her. 


	18. Recovery Zero VI: Dreaming Up Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolina and York's recovery from the encounter with the Meta leads to questions about where they're going next, and just what should motivate them going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am so happy everyone enjoyed enjoyed North and South’s chapter last time around! And now we’re right back around to York and Carolina, which I know a lot of you have been anxious about. Never fear : ) I can update semi-regularly!
> 
> Special thanks to @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @freshzombiewriter, @turtlesinsweaters, @meirelle, Yin, @ephemeraltea, locrianrose, MeteorAtDusk, nota4, Haxler, and staininspace for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

Maine was there. 

That was the oddest part, really. That he -- not the Meta, not Sigma’s puppet, not the thing he was shortly in between it all when perhaps there was a chance to still be saved -- but that _Maine_ was there. 

If there was anything he had to say to her, he didn’t give it. His thousand yard stare penetrated her, moved _through_ her, and Carolina couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. And the longer it went on, the smaller Carolina felt. 

As fast and as roaring as a gunshot, it changed around her. Maine melted back into the darkness and Carolina was left staring at a hazier mess instead. 

It was sunny, the field wheat colored, and the grass tall enough to tickle her exposed knees. 

There was an old familiarity with the scene, like a picture from a book she once read. 

Her heart picked up in pace and she looked to her left and her right -- a golden glow and a cyan glow were basking alongside her in the sunlight. And like when she was a child, she could feel the compounding senses of fear and happiness overwhelming her at once in a constant blur of new emotion. So full of dread and yet so utterly enthralled.

She recognized them immediately. “Eta,” she whispered, then looked to the other. “Iota...”

They said nothing, their harmonic humming whispering through her as they fused together on her person. 

Carolina tried to close her eyes, tried to embrace the warm memory of the AI tickling her brain again when she realized that, despite all her expectations and all sensory evidence to the contrary, they weren’t _really_ there.

Everything was gone, _ruined,_ and it was _his_ fault.

“ _Damn it,”_ she hissed between her teeth before feeling breath against her back. 

She froze, eyes wide, her lungs seizing in her chest. 

While trying to steel herself, like the soldier she had been raised to be, she heard _it._

“I’m sorry, Sunshine.”

Carolina whipped around on her heels to face him, to hit him, to scream at him. But instead she saw a bluish glow and a transparent armor that most of the AI seemed to wear. 

Suddenly, it all clicked.

"You,” she said slowly. “You’re Epsilon...” She looked at the field, dawning with realization. “This is different. They aren’t _my_ memories.” Her eyes narrowed and she glared at the AI again. “You’re his memories. You have them. You _know.”_

Epsilon flickered and disappeared. 

Carolina woke up.

*

When she woke up, Carolina did not expect the wheat colored field tickling her knees, the hum of Eta and Iota, or the piercing gaze of Maine.

Somehow, though, she still managed to be disappointed when they weren’t there all the same. 

When she pushed herself up, taking note that she had been laid prone on the ground, Carolina felt a burning stretch challenge the motion from her waist down.

Hissing, Carolina gingerly raised a hand from her side and pressed it across her midsection. She was still fully in her armor but she could still feel an uncomfortable thickness between her body suit as she pressed -- a thick wall between the touch of her abdomen and the press of her forearm. 

“Biofoam,” she concluded out loud. 

“That would be correct,” Delta’s voice replied to her.

Looking up expectantly, Carolina watched as Delta’s signature green projection lit up before her. He nodded to her. “Good evening, Agent Carolina. I’m pleased to see you are doing well.”

Hissing again, she pushed past her body’s stiffness and the uncomfortable cracking as she broke the foam to bend her legs. Carolina levied an aggravated glance Delta’s way. “ _Well?”_ she asked. “Compared to _what?”_

 _“_ Compared to yesterday’s probabilities for your recovery and survival,” Delta answered. “It’s rather... _impressive_ how well the Healing Unit works even without the direct monitoring and assistance of an AI. I believe it not only matched but _surpassed_ former field standards. It’s unfortunate that being on the run makes it unlikely that I could safely provide this performance analysis to Freelancer--”

Grabbing at her head, Carolina warded off her growing headache. “Delta, stop,” she ordered. She then blinked through the information before looking at the AI again. “Wait. Do you mean I’m using _York’s_ Healing Unit?” she demanded. 

“That is correct,” Delta said, not halting even as Carolina began to ignore him and push herself the rest of the way up to her feet. “Given your injuries and the extent at which your legs would have required intensive repair without assistance from the Healing Unit, it was decided by York that you should receive first attention. Regardless of my own suggestions on the matter.”

Her legs still stumbled awkwardly around themselves, but even under her weight and the additional weight of the cumbersome armor, they held. She was even able to whirl back on Delta’s projection. 

“Where is he?” she demanded.

Delta seemingly stared back at her before flickering out and revealing just behind him, York was slumped against the wheel of a Mongoose, his shoulders’ rise and fall the only indication that he was still breathing.

“ _Damn it,_ York,” Carolina growled before storming over to his side. “What happened? Where’s his helmet?” 

Reappearing at York’s side, Delta replied crisply, “In the accident, York sustained a severe coup lesion to his frontal lobe.”

Carolina worriedly looked to the deep purple bruising on York’s temple.

“Despite my concerns for infarction, York refuted the idea of using the Healing Unit on himself. Considering he still has vitals, I reevaluated my concerns and decided that while and infarct was not as prevalent as assumed, York now has concussive injuries,” Delta explained. He then nodded to the Mongoose. “York removed his helmet against my wishes as well.”

Ignoring the popping of her knees, Carolina rose to her feet and grabbed the helmet from the vehicle’s seat before dropping back down to York’s side. “He’s good at ignoring sensible things,” she muttered.

“I am all too aware,” Delta said firmly as Carolina pushed York’s helmet back on his head and began to remove the Healing Unit from her own chest plate. “Under my guidance, the Healing Unit’s repairs should be quick and efficient,” Delta assured her. 

Carolina popped the unit into York’s armor before giving Delta a casual glance. 

“Almost makes someone wonder why you didn’t implant to me then to speed up this process,” she said, voice thick with accusation. 

“No wondering required,” Delta responded quickly. “It was not an action I suggested to York. He did not think of it on his own.”

Watching the unit light up at installation, Carolina narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t want to help me.”

“Not if it means leaving York,” Delta replied curtly. “He is my person. You are not.”

Carolina looked at Delta carefully before getting up one last time. “I can respect that,” she told him. “Do you have this under control?” 

The AI nodded. “York is fully under my care.”

“Good,” Carolina said before walking off. “I need to stretch my legs.”

“And contact Command?” Delta asked.

Half stopping, Carolina huffed and looked over her shoulder. “You think you’ve got me all figured out?” she asked critically. 

“More than you would like me to,” Delta said back. “It is why you would react poorly to my implantation.” He paused before adding. “Theoretically.”

Carolina stared at him for a moment longer before continuing to walk away.

*

At a decent distance from Delta and York, Carolina brought herself to look back at them. There was still a pang of worry buried beneath the thick armor and mountains of biofoam around her chest, but she quieted it with a solid glance to them.

York was fine.

York was always fine. 

Delta said he had this. 

Taking a deep breath, Carolina made the decision to turn her full attention on the task at hand. Delta had mentioned that she had first been given the Healing Unit the day before, meaning that it had been at least a full day since she last reported in to Command. 

Niner was going to be pissed. 

Readying herself for the upcoming righteous fury and anger, Carolina sighed and reached to her helmet’s comm, clicking it on for their specific channel link. 

“This is Recovery Zero. Come in, Command,” Carolina said routinely enough.

There was a pause of static before a distinct and flustered, “Recovery Zero, this is Command. Hold for the channel to be secured.”

“Alright--”

“ _I said hold!”_ Command yelled.

There was a pregnant pause between them before a collective breath came from Niner followed by a perfectly calm, “Line is secure, Recovery Zero. Go ahead.”

Carolina waited a moment, body tense in expectation for octaves her ears weren’t quite ready to sustain yet, but they didn’t seem to be coming. Biting back on her molars, Carolina sighed and began to say, “Look, Niner--”

“ _Just where the fuck have you been!?”_ Niner screeched, just as Carolina had expected. 

Though, no amount of expectation could keep her from flinching at the screaming. With the surround radio in her helmet, her ears were literally ringing. 

“Okay, let’s calm down--”

“Calm down!?” Niner’s voice cracked. “Calm down? Did you just fucking tell _me_  to calm the fuck down? _Did you? Un-fucking-believable._ Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? Do you have any idea how close I’ve come to sending out a bunch of no-good soldiers out to your beacon? _For fuck’s sake, Carolina--”_

“Should you be using that name over the radio while the program’s under investigation?” Carolina asked cheekily.

“Yeah. You know what? I can use it. Because the second I find you and get hands on you, Carolina, you’re going to be as dead as our records say you are. _Fucking hell, you little cunt._ I... I need a moment,” Niner said before taking a deeb breath. She held the pause out, exhaled loudly, then growled, “I’m mad at you.”

“Couldn’t tell,” Carolina replied thinly. 

“You do _not_ get to joke with me right now, you got that?” Niner snapped. “I thought you were dead. I _thought_ I’d lost you in the midst of all this other _shit_ that is going on over here and I just... _Who do you think you are?_ You’re not allowed to scare me like that. Not after we just started to get along again...”

“Niner, you need to let me talk for a minute,” Carolina said slowly. She hoped with everything in her that her voice conveyed enough of the importance for Niner to not just immediately hang up on her. “And I need it to be something that can only be between the two of us. Do you get what I mean?”

The radio went silent for a moment as Niner thought over the request. Then, calmly, she asked, “Are you going to fuck shit up?”

Nodding somewhat, Carolina replied, “Most likely.”

“Is it going to make _my_ day any more exhausting than you’ve already made it?” Niner asked before adding slyly, “ _Before_ my second cup of coffee, might I add.”

“It’s unfortunately likely,” Carolina admitted.

“Son of a bitch,” the former pilot groaned before there was rustling on the other end. After a series of clicks the voice returned clearly, “Okay it’s just us. Spill.”

“I’m returning to base. My encounter with the Meta was... less than favorable. I got banged up a bit,” Carolina explained.

“That’s fucking _news?”_ Niner asked critically. “And good. I was going to drag your ass back here myself anyway--”

“I need you to make sure there’s no records of me coming back,” she continued.

That earned a thoughtful pause from Niner before she hummed. “This I _don’t_  like,” she said. “Why would I be doing this?”

“Because I’m not coming back alone,” Carolina explained. “You wanted a team. I’m getting us a team. But Freelancer isn’t going to _like_ that team because he’s one of our favored fugitives.”

“Fuck, Carolina,” Niner hissed. “That was _not_ the way my suggestion was supposed to be taken-- who is it? Who is worth all this hell?”

“York--”

“Of _course_ it would be York,” Niner snorted. She let out a long sigh before groaning, “ _Christ.”_ She made a few more clicks and scurrying typing sounds. “And you need back here to get supplies and patched up and other junk, I’m guessing.”

Carolina hummed, cracking her knuckles. “Something like that.”

“Fine,” Niner spat back. “I’ll cover you. But... _fuck_ , Carolina, you’re going to owe me so fucking much.”

“I already do,” Carolina said before turning off the radio. 

* * *

 

The throbbing was lessened from the last time he had dared to open his eyes, but the fact that there was throbbing at all remained a difficult pill to swallow. 

Groaning, York raised his chin up enough to hit the back of his helmet against the Mongoose, which was his first brush with the reality that somehow his helmet was back on.

Blinking curiously, York managed to think to check the HUD readout for his slowly increasing vitals, including the operational capacity of the Healing Unit.

“What...” he grunted before pulling himself together and looking down to his chest plate, sure enough finding where the piece of equipment was inserted. 

“Well, I’d be a son of a bitch,” he said before looking to where he put Carolina down what felt just like minutes beforehand and, sure enough, she was gone.

“Agent Carolina is at stable health and moving around as we speak,” Delta’s voice alerted him. The green sprite appeared by York’s shoulder and he tilted his head. “Something which she would not have been had you not insisted on going against suggestion.”

York smirked. “So I made the right call?”

“For yourself? I’m afraid to ask where you got that conclusion,” Delta said as he shook his head. “Not from _my_ analysis whatsoever. Because _you_ are less than operational right now due to the trade off.”

“But we’re both alive,” York pointed out. “Which _wouldn’t_ have been the case.”

“It was a gamble.”

“That _I won,_ Mister Smarty-Pants,” York replied before pulling his legs up achingly, gritting his teeth at the headache any motion gave him. “Christ...”

Delta tilted his head at York. “You are testing my patience, York.”

“We’re good for each other like that,” York replied as he finally laid his head back and sighed. “How long do I have before this thing patches me up?”

The AI shook his head before looking almost irritably at York. “You have _several hours_ if not _days_ of recuperation to look forward to. With or without the Healing Unit.” He paused then added, “Though it is _my suggestion_ you proceed _with_ the Healing Unit, York. Do not misinterpret my meaning.”

“Yikes, Dee,” York sighed. “You are _really_ pissed.”

“I am not pleased.”

"You don’t say,” York sighed. “Why? Because Carolina’s still around?”

Delta gave him a cursory glance before appearing directly in front of York’s gaze almost angrily. “This is not jealousy or resentment, Agent York,” Delta said flatly. “In fact, I find Agent Carolina behaves much more reasonably and predictably than you do on most days. Her addition to our team _improves_  several combat situation. Given, most situations were _avoided_ before her acquisition.”

Staring back at Delta, York shifted himself. “Then _what_ is it, Dee?”

“This is about your blatant disregard for yourself for objectives outside of our immediate survival,” Delta said. “As I told you before... I am _quite_ familiar with the harm caused by survivor’s guilt. I will not allow you to act on it without recourse.”

“Dee, sometimes we have to make sacrifices for even _better_ outcomes than the safest road,” York argued. “You _get_ that, don’t you?”

Remaining coldly in place, Delta nodded. “I believe we disagree on what is a reasonable sacrifice.”

“Yeah, well, that happens,” he said defensively back. “But... if it’s _me_ making the sacrifices then I get to decide what’s worth it, Delta. It’s just that simple.”

“And what _is_ worth it, York?”

Sighing, York closed his eyes. “My teammates,” he said. “I’m not ever choosing myself over one of them again. Everything since the wreck tells me it’s not really worth it.”

“Fine,” Delta returned hollowly. 

“Carolina,” York added.

“Which is separate from teammates at this point?” Delta pressed. 

“You tell me,” York sighed. 

“And... there is something else worth the sacrifice to you right now?” 

York stared off, trying to recognize the terrain around them before he sighed and lowered his head. His fists clenched at his sides. “Stupid as it is, as little sense as it makes, Dee... I’d be willing to give taking down Freelancer another go. As much as it’d probably not work... fuck, Dee, I just can’t think that I’d let them get away with all we’ve gone through for them and not get back _something.”_ He looked up to the projecting AI. “Eye for an eye and all that.”

“As a construct of the military and more of a _thing_ than a person, York, I’m afraid to inform you that Freelancer might not have an _eye_ of its own to give,” Delta said somewhat sardonically.

“Well, it’d be worth it to try,” York huffed.

“Glad to hear it.”

Not even all that surprised, York turned his head to see Carolina not far off. Her helmet was on her hip. 

“Your head?” she asked.

“Injured,” Delta answered for him.

“I’m fine,” York argued.

“Either way, rest up,” Carolina ordered. “I’m going to debrief you on what we’re doing next when you’re ready.”

At that, York and Delta couldn’t help but look at each other curiously. 

*

Delta had remained uncharacteristically silent throughout it all. York’s small talk was deemed distracting for his concentration on running the Healing Unit and so, rather abruptly, he had disengaged. 

Being an AI, Delta of course could multitask such things, but York suspected his behavior was the closest to a cold shoulder Delta could manage for someone he shared a brain with. 

For her part, Carolina gave her support by canvasing for supplies, checking the perimeter, and generally avoiding York in the name of giving him some additional time to get on his feet. 

He did his best to not take too personally.

By the time Carolina returned, York was standing against the Mongoose rather than sitting. 

Carolina didn’t seem at all surprised. 

“You’re a stubborn man, York,” she surmised. 

“Pot meet kettle,” he responded casually. “How’s the legs?”

“How’s the head?”

They kept each other’s gaze through the amused silence that followed, not even looking away as Delta appeared between them.

“My Bioscans say that even with the rapid wound repair and remaining units of Biofoam, Agent Carolina has stress fractures remaining both in her right tibia and left knee cap. Her current usage is remarkable and unadvised. Agent York’s headache is still a six out of ten in pain--”

York glared. “A _three.”_

 _“--_ and while his mental state is competent I would not find further damage acceptable in any form for risk of permanent cerebral damage.” Delta paused before explaining, “As the two of you seem determined to plan a next course of action, I believed it was best to explain the _true_ statuses you are keen on not discussing out of what I am processing as a dangerous combination of pride and infatuation.”

Looking at Delta in aggravation, York groaned. “ _Dee...”_

 _“_ Those sorts of judgmental interferences could make a difference in a life or death decision,” Delta argued plainly. “And I highly suspect that is just what is about to be discussed.”

York kept his glare focused on his partner for a moment then looked somewhat apologetically to Carolina. To his surprise it was met with a small snort of a laugh.

“Delta seems to have gotten saucy,” she commented, sounding far more impressed with the attitude than with York being on his feet again.

“Yeah, well,” York replied with a shrug. “He learned from the best.”

“Mmhmm,” Carolina hummed back before turning her full gaze onto the AI. “Delta, you have my word that I am only going to take us on a course of action that is the most thought out, safest, and least likely to put either of us in physical risk. It’s a _good plan.”_

Delta studied her for a moment before looking to York. 

In return, York laughed and shook his head. “Don’t look at _me._ You’re the one who said she was _more reasonable_ than I am most days, as I recall.”

Flustered, Delta looked back to Agent Carolina. “I would like to hear this plan,” he said agreeably. 

Satisfied with Delta’s change in tune, York smirked and looked to Carolina himself. “Make that two of us.”

Carolina nodded. “Alright. Broadly? We’re going to capture the Director,” she said as if it were nothing at all.

Stunned, York and Delta stared at her in silence. Then, slowly, they both said at once, “ _What?”_

“It’s actually simple,” Carolina said.

"I, for one, disagree,” Delta butted in.

“Yeah, I'm with Delta here, Carolina,” York said back, looking at her worriedly. “What’s this really about?”

“The Meta and stopping Freelancer,” she responded almost too quickly. “Look, the Meta is gathering equipment and AI, and the thing it’s going to want most of all is--”

Delta brightened. “The Alpha.”

Shoulders drooping, York looked tiredly to his AI. “Dee, we’ve _talked_ about this.”

“No, he’s right,” Carolina said. 

“Plans involving _us_ and the Alpha have historically ended not-so-great,” York reminded them both. “Like, for instance, crashing into a frozen mountain kind of not-so-great. So forgive my skepticism.”

“We aren’t dealing with the Alpha at all in this. Relax,” Carolina promised. “We’re just thinking the way the Meta will. And he’s going to know that there’s one place we can get that information from: _the Director.”_

Once more, Delta and York looked worriedly to each other.

“We’re simply cutting him off early,” Carolina continued. 

“Okay, great. Then where are we going to find the Director?” York asked. “You said before that you were looking for him. How can we cut this Meta of if we’re looking same as him?”

“We won’t be,” Carolina said. “I _remembered_ a way to get to the Director.”

As if Carolina had said something truly profound, Delta tilted his head back. “Ah,” he said.

Completely lost, York looked between the two of them before setting his eye on Carolina. “Explain?”

"She wishes to recover and utilize the AI designated Epsilon,” Delta answered instead. He also stared at Carolina expectantly. “This is a plan which involves... _risks.”_

Mouth gapping, York looked back and forth before crossing his forearms in the air. “Timeout!” he called. “You want to get _Epsilon?”_ York demanded. He looked at Carolina then turned abruptly to Delta. “ _Epsilon?_ The AI that killed itself? _In_ Wash’s head?” His head snapped back to Carolina. “That’s _not_ your plan.”

“It’s not like I’m saying I’ll use it for more than finding the Director, York,” she argued. “It’s a computer program. We can take precautions that they weren’t aware they needed before.”

York’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, right. Because what happened to Wash was just such a minor inconvenience.”

Carolina’s fist dented the back of the Mongoose. “That’s not what I’m saying and you _know_ it!” 

“Then what _are_ you saying, Carolina?” York demanded. 

“I’m saying we can use Epsilon’s programming. because that’s what he is, York. The AI’s are tools to enhance our effectiveness,” she reminded him darkly. “Malfunction doesn’t erase the fact that he’s software.”

“Did you pay attention in class, Carolina?” York asked. “AI are _more_ than just programming.” 

Folding her arms, Carolina looked at Delta. “Well?”

“Technically speaking, we _are_ programming,” Delta agreed. “And our purposes in the field _are_ efficiency.”

Shaking his head, York looked almost mournfully at Delta. “Dee, come _on.”_

 _“_ Agent Carolina, you are _factually_ correct,” Delta continued. 

“Thank you, Delta--” 

"But I also believe you are oversimplifying the scenario by not taking into account my development outside of coding and regulations,” Delta added almost snappishly. York watched him carefully. “You are ignoring that I have become who you understand as Delta now thanks to my interactions and proximity to York.” 

Caught off guard, York found himself smiling at the AI. But when he looked to Carolina, York found her less impressed.

“And without a York, Epsilon is only programming. Programming they didn’t understand in an environment as complicated and unpredictable as the human brain. But programming all the same,” she restated. 

Reluctantly, Delta nodded. “Yes.”

“Then I want you thinking of a way to fix that problem while we travel,” Carolina ordered. Her gaze shifted back to York. “Assuming we all are still willing to _try.”_

York scowled. “As long as we’re not trying this for anything else... _right?”_

Carolina didn’t flinch from the accusation. “It’s ll straight forward, York.”

“And dangerous,” he pointed out. “You told us it wouldn’t be a physical risk--”

“Because this part won’t be,” Carolina said simply with a shake of her head. “Look, I called Niner. She’s working with us on this. No one will even know we’re there, no one will be looking for anything out of the ordinary. And, believe me, my level of clearance will get us where we need to be. I’ve done it before. FILSS doesn’t even blink at me when I’m inside the storage facility.”

Sighing, York looked to Delta. “What’s your thoughts, Dee?”

“Truthfully, it sounds more dangerous than what Agent Carolina is letting on,” he acknowledged. “Clearance and cover may be taken care of, but that doesn’t erase the fact that a single mistake could be disastrous for us. Especially if we are going deep into the facilities of Freelancer itself.”

Looking to Carolina, York raised a brow. “ _Are_ we?”

Her head tilted. “It’s underground and on the lowest level.”

“Of course it is,” York laughed, putting his head in his hand. “Damn it.”

“ _All_ of this taken into account...” Delta continued, looking sideways to York. “Some payback... would be nice.”

Taking a breath, York looked to Carolina. Even with her helmet on, there was something about her stare that got to him, made his throat tight. “Alright,” he said finally. “We’re in.”


	19. Recovery One VI: Calamity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tex's efforts have led to Blue Base filling with more captives than her quest for Omega allows her time to deal with. While she juggles her interrogations with Church's constant questioning, Wash finds his own efforts to simply survive Blue Base only growing more complicated thanks to the rising number of variables -- not the least of which is Tex herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I think when this story ends, a long long way down the trail, it’s going to be most interesting to see how many other stories I completed in that time. Not just because this one’s a long long tale, but because I’ll be interested to see how many different genres and character focuses I phased through in the constant my effort my body is making to procrastinate on this story. It’s honestly kind of funny the lengths I’ll go to give myself a break fom really concentrating on one story sometimes. 
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @analiarvb, Yin, MeteorAtDusk, and @meirelle for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

There was a certain coldness at her core as she carried herself out of Blue Base. A self-awareness that there were too many balls to be juggled and she was about to drop them all. 

Another Freelancer was there -- one she had little to do with before even if his implantation had been the final straw for so many of her accomplices on the day they took down the Mother of Invention -- was in _her_ base.

And he knew about Alpha.

She looked forward, shoulders tense from nerves and the constant struggle against Lopez’s resistance, when a familiar white projection flickered on beside her.

“Hey, we need to talk,” Church said.

Unable to resist the roll of her eyes, Tex shook her head and kept forward. “Church, you need to learn that what I _need_ is never going to be predictable for you,” she told him.

“Settle down, alright. Keep the bitchiness to a minimal,” he scoffed back. “Besides, you’ll be interested in what I have to say.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tex asked, coming to a stop and folder her arms against her chest.

“Yeah,” Church replied as he stopped in front of her. “It’s about your Freelancer dude.”

Tex allowed the silence to carry for a beat before making a point to walk through Church. “Look at that: you’re wrong. I couldn’t be less interested.”

“What!?” Church called out before groaning and rushing after her. “Oh, com _on,_ Tex. It’s important!”

Keeping her eyes focused straight ahead, Tex shook her head again. “No. It isn’t.”

“The hell it’s not!” Church snapped. “You’re keeping him prisoner in _my_ base!”

That actually got Tex to laugh and look Church’s way. “ _Your_ base? Really?”

“Yes. _My_ base,” Church snapped back. “I lead Blue Team.” 

Tex leered at him. “I wouldn’t go around bragging about that one.” 

“Well, I am,” he responded as he crossed his arms. “I’m the Blue Leader and that makes me in charge of Blood Gulch Outpost...” There was an utterance, like a starting noise for a computer and it was followed by a stuttering.

Tex stared at him in horror. “Church?” she called out.

There was a blink of his projection then Church continued as if nothing had happened at all. “-- _Alpha,”_ he finished. 

Biting down on her immediate outbursts, Tex took a moment. One which Church was completely unobservant to. 

“Hey, that reminds me,” he said in the same annoyingly normal way he said everything on his mind in Blood Gulch. “What’s all that bullshit your Freelancer buddy was saying back there about AI and Alpha-Omega stuff? Is it something about the program or is he just one of the ones that went crazy?”

Feeling at a loss and more than a little pissed to be put on the spot due to Washington’s indiscretion, Tex lowered her head and swore under her breath. “You have _no idea..._ and probably wouldn’t be allowed to process any of it even if you did get told. Right?” she asked without any thought toward getting a real answer.

Church tilted his head at her. “What?”

“Don’t listen to anything Washington has to say, Church,” she ordered. “He’s... one of the crazy ones.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Church shrugged back. “You’re all a little crazy, though, so...”

“Yeah, well,” Tex pushed forward, unable to even look at Church as she explained. “His AI killed itself.”

"Whoa, holy fuck,” Church said as he followed. “Like on purpose?”

“Yes,” Tex said darkly.

“In his head!?” 

“That was the beginning of the end for the program,” she continued.

“Sucks for him,” Church said without any weight to it. “I wonder what would make an _AI_ kill itself."

Tex couldn’t even acknowledge that one.

Instead, she kept her face forward and pointed at Caboose as she saw him standing by Sheila.”You.”

Turning stiffly on his heels, the blue armored rookie almost seemed surprised by Tex. “Agent Tex-as,” he called out. He then waved calmly at her. “Hello.” His face turned abruptly toward Church and the soldier began bouncing up and down. “Oh! Oh! Church! _Church!_ Are we going to fix Sheila!? I won’t mind you getting back with the scary-nice-mechanic-lady so long as it’s just to fix Sheila!” His tone deepened as he gripped his gun tightly. “And _only_ then...”

Church looked more disgusted than disturbed. “Shut up, Caboose. Jesus.”

“I am _not_ Caboose! I am... _O’Malley!”_ Caboose hissed.

Tex glared.

Church groaned in aggravation. “And frankly I don’t _care._ My helmet says Caboose. Tucker says Caboose. Apparently your _underwear_ says Caboose. Get Command to change all that or you’re just stuck with Caboose. Got it?”

Less charged for banter than Church, Tex just narrowed her eyes and kept locked on Caboose’s body. “Why _O’Malley?”_ she asked.

The sim trooper glared at her with an intensity that was clearly not his own. 

She shrugged. “Just trying to make yourself out to be your own man? Fine. Good luck with that. But go do it somewhere else.” She waved around. “Patrol the area, make sure no one’s plotting anything. Check the cliffs. They’re good for that sort of thing.”

He stood still. 

Sighing, Tex caved. “If you leave, I’ll fix Sheila--” 

“YES!” he screamed excitedly. That explosion, at least, was very much the rookie they had known from before. “Oh, thank you thank you thank you--”

“Oh _god,_ don’t make her complex any worse,” Church begged. 

Tex hated to agree but she pointed to the cliffs again. “Like I said, thank me by patrolling, got it?”

“This will be so _awesome!”_ he cheered in response before wildly dashing toward the cliffs.

Church’s suspicious gaze followed Caboose for a moment before training back on Tex. “Is it wise to give the team killer the higher ground?”

“Why? You’re already dead and _we_ have the tank down here,” Tex pointed out before opening the maintenance hatch for Sheila. She looked around before fixating herself once more on Sheila’s internal server report. “I can’t help but notice everything around here stays distressingly cyclic,” she noted as she looked through the readout for the source of the problem.

“Yeah, well. I guess there are worse descriptions for how someone spent their time serving in a war.”

Unable to contain the bubble of laughter, Tex through her head back and cracked up.

Rustling up, Church looked like an offended rooster. “What!? What the fuck is so funny about that?”

“ _Serving in a war?”_ Tex repeated as she moved to Sheila’s engine and almost instinctively began rewiring. “You don’t know the first goddamn thing about serving in a war.”

Flustered, Church motioned over himself. “Hey! Fuck you, I _died_ for a goddamn war!”

"Without serving your purpose in it,” Tex reminded him. “Talk about fucking waste.” She stopped, looked at the engine. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought she had the sting of tears in her eyes. “All of it... All of this and it was a goddamn waste... just...” 

Standing nearby, Church was uncomfortably quiet before whispering, “Is there something else going on here, Tex? Anything I can do to help--”

Snapping back, Tex turned and glared at him. “Do I _look_ like I’m here for _Sharing Time,_ Church?” she demanded. “No? Then how about you let me put Sheila back online so this dumb conversation is over. That fine by you?”

He glared back. “Hey hey hey! What’d I tell you earlier about those bitchiness levels--”

“For fuck’s sake, Church, I can’t _think_ around you and your whining!” Tex yelled before slamming her fist down on Sheila. 

There was a bleeping and small screening noise from Sheila before her lights blinked back on and her canon began to rotate back into a usable position. 

“Hello, and thank you for activating the M808B Main Battle Tank -- say. All of this is refreshingly familiar,” Sheila’s voice droned out, her canon turning more toward Church and Tex. “And I do believe we have already met.”

The two stayed quiet for a moment before Tex put her hands on her hips and looked expectantly to Church. “Do I get a thank you?”

“Thank you? Why the fuck would I thank you? This thing killed _you_ the last time it was on, and killed _me_ the time before that,” Church snapped. He paused and looked to Sheila. “For what it’s worth, Sheila, I completely blame Caboose for at least once of those. And at least fifty percent for the other.”

“Oh, that is very much appreciated... _Private._ Hmm,” Sheila’s canon tilted back. “There is an inconsistency in my records about your position in this military, Private Church. One that Agent Texas was--”

“Okay, that would be _enough_ , Sheila,” Tex cut her off. “We’re here specifically to ask if you can scan Caboose and tell us if there’s anything wrong with him. At least that you can pick up.”

“Oh, my. Is there something the matter with Private Caboose?” the tank asked worriedly.

“More than can be listed,” Church answered.

“We’re hoping _you_ can tell us,” Tex explained. “And if it’s horrendous or if you just feel like it, go ahead and blow him up or something. Save me the trouble.”

The tank hummed and began circling her canon around, observing the cliffs where Caboose was sent off to. “Very well.”

Church went rigid and he looked at Tex somewhat aghast. He neared her hesitantly. “That... you weren’t serious about shooting him dead on sight, right? I mean... if there’s something with your AI we’ll just... chase it out. Like we did you.”

“My AI _left_ because it was the most convenient decision for him to make, Church,” Tex snapped back, glaring at him. “I don’t really feel like giving him a free pass to look for another alternative that suits him again.”

“But Caboose...”

“What _about_ Caboose?” Tex demanded. “Look, the closest to a _plan_ we could have to flushing him out is if you or I went into Caboose’s head right after him. But I don’t feel like letting _you_ do it and get yourself killed in your non-death as it is, nor do I feel comfortable leaving you with the body open. One you’d probably lose to this Mexican robot anyway.”

Church looked slightly amazed. “We could go after him?”

“We’re _not_ ,” Tex growled. “Sheila’s going to shoot him if--”

“Firing main canon--”

Without any further warning, Sheila unleashed a blast aimed for the cliffside that was enough to make even Tex off balance. There was a blast of rocks and debris flying around them and Tex felt a cool relief. 

Maybe it was over. 

She then noticed the tensed way Church stood beside her, the wideness of his stance as he looked toward the cliffs. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was in complete shock over what just happened. 

“Ca-Caboose?” he said quietly.

“You were most correct, Agent Texas!” Sheila said enthusiastically. “There was certainly something wrong with Private Caboose--”

“I knew it,” Tex said confidently.

“He was being approached by one of the enemy team’s members!” Sheila continued. “It is fortunate I looked when I did and was able to protect him.”

“You what?” Tex growled just before Caboose’s bright blue armor stood up over one of the cliff’s edges and began waving at them.

“Guys! I found someone! And now he’s sleeping! And bleeding! I think that’s very rude for him to do on our side of the basketball court,” Caboose yelled down to them. 

Church and Tex looked up at Caboose, stunned, before Church looked to Sheila. “Is it at all possible for you to try and shoot him again?”

* * *

His heart was racing and his hands were wringing together as he paced, his eyes darting nervously toward the door. 

They had a tank. A tank that could shoot things on its own. One with an AI probably programmed by Command. _Probably_ to protect the Alpha at all costs.

And he was probably the only one around who lacked clearance as to _not_ be shot by the tank.

Escape was looking infinitely harder with each blast of news he was receiving.

“This is just great,” he muttered.

“Not as great as the sight of Tex murdering you when she gets back and you’ve not finished her stupid robot body,” Tucker said, sitting on the ground between the incomplete models and looking idly at the parts. “Which... Y’know. I usually don’t try to think about how stupid the stuff around here is, but when you say it out loud, saying we’re building robot bodies for ghosts to possess _does_ sound really stupid.”

“So my options are to get killed by the best special ops Freelancer around or to get obliterated by the self-conscious tank AI that’s going to see me as a threat the moment I step outside of this base,” Wash said, standing still at last. He took a deep breath. “Perfect.”

“Actually, Sheila’s pretty chill,” Tucker said with a shrug. “So she would be the one to just kill you. _Tex_ will obliterate you if you don’t put this together.” Suddenly, Tucker clicked the connecting lines of the leg he was holding and looked in amazement as he realized he had finished the limb. “Oh. Son of a bitch. I coulda done this the whole time!” He paused nervously. “Oh, fuck. No one tell Tex. Else _I’m_ going to be the one who gets obliterated.”

Wash chewed on the side of his mouth, his stomach churning uncomfortably more and more with each passing minute. “I could make a break for it but... then what? If Command didn’t see me as a loose end to be rid of before, knowing about the Alpha would definitely make me one now. There’s no one I can go to. I’m stuck. The only thing I have is going after Wyoming... and he’s going to want to come back here. There’s no question about that. So I can’t be on the run from Command _and_ from Texas _and_ stick around here.”

Humming slightly, Tucker leaned back and put a hand on his chin. “Actually... the whole keeping AI from building robot bodies things sounds smart. Y’know, stops all that Terminator shit from happening. But like... it also gets me thinking. Does that mean Lopez couldn’t build it or that Tex and Church couldn’t build these things? Because... either way it’s kinda weird.” He looked curiously to Wash. “I’m starting to think... either my best friend is a robot built by Skynet... or the Reds’ robot is _also_ a ghost that possesses robots to fight in a war _you_ say doesn’t exist.”

Finally aggravated enough, Wash turned and glared at Tucker. “Why are you still talking to me about this? I told you already, I can’t handle your existential crisis. I have enough going on for myself.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Tucker said plainly. “Look, I just need you to tell me if it’s weirder to have a friend who turned out to be a robot, or a captured enemy who is a ghost living in a robot.” He blinked then looked at Wash expectantly. “Which one?”

Squaring his jaw, Wash just glared back at Tucker. “I think you know the right answer to that.”

“Who gives a fuck what I know. You wanna know what I know? _Jackshit._ I just want someone to tell me what to think. I can’t be bothered,” Tucker replied.

“Wow, with that kind of attitude it’s actually amazing you were given up from the real army to waste time here,” Wash said. “They usually _love_ that kind of passivity when they can put a gun in its hands.”

“Well, there _was_ this thing I did involving impersonating a gynocologist before I was transferred--”

“Oh, for the love of,” Wash groaned before pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know, I’ve been looking at this situation all wrong. Death might be a welcoming experience after everything I’ve been forced through lately.”

“God is _everything_ about you?” Tucker said with a roll of his eyes. “Yeah boohoo. Everyone wants to kill you. At least they apparently want to kill you for _real_ reasons. Try walking in my fucking shoes. I just learned that people are trying to kill me for something that isn’t even real. Which would be kind of funny if I hadn’t been killing and trying to kill people for the same not real reasons. You think your day sucks? My day totally fucking blows compared to yours.”

Taken by surprise, Wash blinked and looked at the other man for a moment. He was met by a look of complete ferocity beneath that goofy way he was rotating a robot’s arm in his hands, one that was at least partially aware of how screwed over he had been by the system Freelancer had become. 

In some horrifying ways it was a lot like looking into a mirror. 

“Yeah,” Wash fumbled for his words. “But... you’re also a sim trooper.”

“Oh, so I guess that means us and the Reds deserve it,” Tucker snapped. He took pause. “Well, maybe the Reds did. Or... fuck, maybe they didn’t. Man this is ridiculous, I’ve hated these guys this much for so long for no reason?” 

“You could always hate appropriate people just as much,” Wash replied. “That’s been my position as of late.”

“Yeah, and you also seem like the pinnacle of mental health in the short amount of time I’ve known you,” Tucker said sarcastically. “Yeah, no thanks.”

Wash searched for words to give Tucker when, without warning, a bright white projection appeared right beside the aqua armored man.

“Tucker! We’ve got a situation--” the Alpha AI shouted before stopping abruptly and surveying the room. He stopped on Wash then looked back to Tucker in the midst of the nearly completed robots. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding-- Tucker, we leave you _one_ job and you end up doing someone’s bitch work. How completely typical.”

“Hey, fuck you, dude,” Tucker snapped back. “You want a body or not? _You’re_ the ones who shot Sheila off and got this guy to have a meltdown in here.”

“I was _not_ having a meltdown,” Washington protested. “And for the record, I would have been done completely if I wasn’t so restrained.”

The AI sized up Wash and snorted. “Yeah, okay. Newsflash: you’re restrained because that’s what happens to prisoners. I know, who would have ever imagined it.”

“Church, are you a robot?” Tucker asked out of the blue. He tilted his head at his friend. “Because that seems like something you’d share with people  you’re living with. Just saying.”

"Pfft,” the projection flickered. “Robot? That’s dumb. I’m a motherfucking ghost. Obviously. Why would you even--” He looked to Wash then back to Tucker. “Dude, don’t listen to this asshole. Tex says he’s full of shit.”

“Yeah? So are you, and I’ve had to listen to _you_ for months,” Tucker reminded Church. “How’s that make _you_ feel? To be so hypocritical.”

“It doesn’t make me _feel_ anything because I’m _not_. Look, Tucker, this guy’s one of those special agents from Tex’s program that lost his marbles. Conspiracy nut and all that,” Church said with a shrug. “So don’t listen to him. Unless you want to catch the crazy.”

Wash narrowed his eyes. “I am _not_ crazy.”

Tucker hummed and tapped the chin of his helmet. “Wellllll, it _is_ hard to believe there’s no such thing as Red or Blue.”

“Oh, so he’s also colorblind,” the AI smarted off. “And you were about to listen to this asshole?”

“But... it kinda adds up when you think about it,” Tucker continued.

Washington looked at Tucker somewhat surprised again. “I... thank you. It _does_ \--”

“No it doesn’t, shut up both of you,” Church snapped. He put his hands on his hips and looked around the room. “Now... I came in here for something--”

“You had a situation,” Tucker reminded him.

“Oh, right. So... we kind of have another prisoner now,” he explained.

“What!?” Tucker and Washington called out at the same time.

“This time it’s a Red, not a Freelancer,” he clarified. He then leaned in toward Tucker and said meaningfully, “The _pink_ guy.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhh,” Tucker said back, raising to his feet. “Poor fucker. I’m gonna guess that Tex already called dibs,” he said with a click of his tongue and a shake of his head. “Poor asshole.”

Completely lost, Washington looked back and forth between the two and glared. “Are you going to explain any of this to me?” he asked. “Is this significant? Is my position compromised somehow here...?”

They stared at him before looking to each other.

“Okay, you’re right. _Classic_ conspiracy nut,” Tucker agreed.

“See? Never doubt your leader,” Church said proudly. 

* * *

On a certain level, Tex knew she shouldn’t have been pleased to have to deal with more alarming outsiders busting into Blue territory and making her once straight forward goals more complicated. 

On a more fundamental level she could not have been gift wrapped a better gift than the pink armored Red who had blown everything to hell and back in her last operation. 

It might as well have been her birthday. 

She came to a stop by Caboose and looked over the groaning heap of a solider that the rookie had drug into the hold like a proud mousing cat. She stood close enough to nudge the soldier with the heel of her boot.

“No, please,” the Red whined. “No scuffs on my armor. I’m begging you.”

“Priorities,” Tex huffed before looking Caboose’s way. “Well, I honestly can’t believe I am saying this, Caboose... but good work.”

The rookie beamed in response. “Aw, thanks, Tex! See, I knew the voices in my head saying we had to kill you before you could kill me -- yeah. They were exaggerating. You’re a not so terrible person. And that means... I like you. And even better, Church likes you! That’s the most important part of all.”

Tex snorted. “Sure it is.” 

“Y’know, just as long as Church doesn’t like you more than he likes me! But... he would never do that, right? Because Church likes me a lot to consider me his bestest best friend!”

Staring at Caboose in silence, Tex genuinely hoped he was able to continue without ever needing her input. 

Perhaps fortunately for them both, the prisoner sat up. 

“I think it’s really nice that everyone on your team gets along so well,” the Red said cheerfully. He then looked Tex up and down. “It even makes it almost okay that we thought this guy was dead! Glad you’re feeling better cobalt, dude. And even better than that, I get to tell Sarge that Grif and Simmons gave bad intel. I bet I won’t have any cleaning duties for a whole month!”

Tex stared at the man for a moment then looked to Caboose. Then back.

“I’m actually really offended right now,” Tex said. “You mistake me for Church _to my face_ and then reveal you’re a _guy?_ I was almost okay with the fact that the Reds had a girl who could do me in. Whatever. But a _dude?_ What the hell.”

The soldier’s head tilted. “Isn’t that the _slightest bit_ sexist?”

Caboose shook his head and pointed toward Tex. “No, no, Admiral Buttercrust. That’s _Tex!_ She kills people for a living... but not here. She’s not killed anyone yet.”

Hackles raised, Tex rounded on Caboose and gritted her teeth. “Not anyone _you_ know of.”

“Oh, that’s true,” Caboose acknowledged with a nod. “And I don’t know a lot.”

“We’re all aware,” Tex snapped.

“Aw, that’s okay, Mister Caboose,” the prisoner said somewhat gently. “For what it’s worth, I found the way you took me prisoner, cuffed my hands behind my back, and manhandled me halfway across a canyon to be _very_ charming.”

To that, Caboose nearly beamed as much as he had when Tex complimented him. Retroactively ruining _that_ moment as well.

“Caboose,” Tex spat out.

He turned wildly and faced her, body loose and free from any possible tension. It was so lacking as far as a soldier’s stance it was _almost_ amazing.

“I need you to leave,” Tex continued.

“Leave where?” he asked.

“Here.”

“Why would I leave here?” Caboose asked in a half-snort.

Feeling like she would have ripped out her hair if the robotic body had had any, Tex leaned forward. “Because _I told you so.”_

Caboose laughed. “I don’t remember _that._ I think I would remember something like that--”

Taking an artificial breath, Tex dropped her head into one of her hands and shook the compelling need to smash faces in off as best she could. She then looked up at Caboose.

“Oh, hey,” she said in feigned excitement. “Caboose! Guess who’s outside!”

He went stiff, beginning to already bounce on his heels. “is it Church!?”

“It’s Sheila--”

“SHEEEIIILA!” Caboose cheered. “Oh, man! I’ve missed her _so much--”_

 _“_ Yeah, yeah I know,” Tex said. “So how about you go say hi to her and--” She nearly felt the force of the wind left by Caboose all but flying out of the room. She turned and watched his back as it turned the corner and disappeared. Tex then grinned at their prisoner, cracking her knuckles. “--and leave _me_ with our newfound friend.”

The Red hummed slightly as he looked Tex over. “Something about you seems _awfully_ familiar,” he said.

“Yeah, I bet,” Tex replied, stepping up closer to him. “The name’s Tex. And you are?”

“Oh!!!” the soldier gasped. “ _Tex_ like _Texas_ \-- does that make you one of those Freelancers that Sarge was going on about?”

Throwing a thumb to her chest, Tex smirked. “More like I’m _the_ Freelancer. And I’m _definitely_ the one who has the biggest beef with you right now. That’s, of course, not looking so hot for you. I’m not someone who’s exactly fun when you’re on my _good_ side. And _you’ve_ ended up on my bad.

He tilted his head. “That sure doesn’t _sound_ like me. I’ve always been really likable.”

Tex glared at the Red, but when glares alone got her nowhere she finally spat out. “Well, believe it. Give me your name.”

The prisoner stayed shockingly resilient to her imposing stature. “What would you ever need my name for?”

“I don’t _need_ you name, kid. I just thought it’d be nice of me to put more than _Pink Guy_ on the box I’ll ship your remains back to Red Base in,” she threatened smoothly.

Incredulously, the soldier gaped at her. “This armor isn’t _pink!_ It’s _lightish-red!_ I thought if anyone on Blue Team could appreciate that it would be a fellow fashionista!”

Somewhat affronted herself, Tex straightened up. “What the hell makes you think I’m a _fashionista!?_ What? Because you think I have a vagina?”

He scowled back. “Why would you bring _that_ up? Now _I’m_ uncomfortable.”

“Because you think I like fashion. I don’t give a _fuck_ about fashion,” Tex snapped over the Red’s gasps of horror. “I don’t even like goddamn colors. I’m all about black and leather, baby.” More gasps followed. “So don’t make assumptions. Dick.”

Turning his head from Tex, the prisoner harumphed her. “Well, if _that’s_ your attitude I don’t even think I _want_ you to know my real name!”

Tex tilted her head. “What should I call you while I’m torturing information out of you then? I’m thinking _Skippy.”_

He grinned wildly at her. “You’ll have to call me by my ultra fine super spy name!” 

She rotated her hand as she rolled her eyes. “Which _is?”_

 _“_ Double-Oh-Donut!” he called out excitedly. “I have a license to thrill or _be thrilled.”_

For a moment, she let the stupidity wash over her. Tex stared at the Red for a long, pregnant pause then threw back her head. 

“For fuck’s sake -- I don’t have the time for this,” she growled before storming toward the door. “CABOOSE! Get back here!” 

She waited, stomping her foot impatiently until she heard Caboose barreling through Blue Base and stopping just short of her.

“You wanted me, Agent Tex-as?” he asked immediately, waving a poor excuse of a salute. 

“Yeah, watch him,” Tex said, pointing to the Red. “While I go talk to Church and think up a new strategy.”

“Oh! Oh!” Caboose called out, raising his arm high in the air like a preschooler.

Tex was tempted to leave right then and there, but as tried as her patience was, she knew upsetting the behemoth of a solider was most likely not the best course of action either. Especially if he was housing an aggresive and vindictive AI like she highly suspected. 

“What is it, Caboose?” she asked thinly.

“Can I _also_ go to see Church?” he asked, then deeper, “So no one steals him from me.”

“No,” she said firmly all the same. “I have to have someone watch the prisoner.”

Crest fallen, Caboose immediately stammered out, “B-but--”

“How about this, Caboose: When I’m done talking to Church, I’ll send him down here with you,” she offered. “That doable?”

“YES!” Caboose cheered before stomping into the cell. “Do you hear that, Colonel Biscuit!? You’re going to meet Church!”

“Neat!” the Red said back. 

Tex glared at the scene a moment longer before shaking her head and walking back toward the rest of Blue Base.

*

The walk to the rec room where she had last left Tucker and Wash wasn’t taxing in any way, but the grinding of gears it required was immense. 

Her body’s native AI had just about had _enough_ of being pushed around and every movement was beginning to rely on almost all of Tex’s concentration. 

If she wasn’t the most stubborn person to have ever walked onto Blue Base, the other AI might have even won. 

“You... do _not_... control... _me!”_ she warned angrily, slamming each foot down with a successful step to the point that one of the weaker points of the metal flooring dented in. 

Her eyes flickered forward and she saw a railing for the ramp into the rec room and she grabbed it to pull herself forward. For whatever reason, the AI seemed to be concentrating on controlling her lower half the most. 

She glared down to her feet, watching the metal plates of her armor rub screechingly against each other, the poorly applied cobalt paint chipping off with the friction.

“I will _end_ you!” she roared ferociously at herself. 

Pausing, Tex let the moment stand still and she tried to remember against all of her free will, that she was just as much numbers and ones inhabiting the robotic frame as the other AI was. She concentrated on it, pooled all that blissfulness that came with the jump she had preformed as an AI before, and then stepped forward again.

The resistance was minimal.

“Take that, you son of a bitch,” she snickered to herself before stiffly stepping u the ramp and into the recreation room.

It should not have been at all surprising to her that she was met with three very concerned, very freaked, faces when she pulled herself all the way in. She _had_ been yelling and cursing at herself just a few feet away from the door.

Still, Tex kept her collective cool, put her hands on her hips, and looked around the the three of them. 

“What?” she demanded.

“Nothing, Miss We-Are-Legion,” Tucker snorted, before standing up, knocking his knuckles against the fully erect synthetic soldiers between him. “Look! Your science experiment of weird is almost done.” He nodded to Tex’s former Freelancer teammate. “He helped. Y’know. Before you flipped him out with the tank.”

Bristling almost, Washington turned to look at Tucker with a fierce glare. “That’s not how that happened. I was not flipping out!”

“Sure, dude,” Tucker snickered.

“Both of you shut up,” Tex warned. “I don’t care _how_ it happened.”

“Well, I would rather you keep in mind that it was part of our deal,” Wash reminded her haughtily. “That by me working on these robots we were scratching each other’s backs.”

Tex stared at him, somewhat impressed by the strong front he had up or the fact that Wash’s eyes were intently focused on her almost enough to convey the level of confidence he wanted them to. But ultimately it just pissed her off.

“My back’s not scratched, Washington,” she said, pointing at him accusingly. “Those _aren’t_ ready. You _aren’t_ getting even a single plate of armor back until they are. How’s _that?”_

He narrowed his eyes and looked back to Tucker. “Grab those parts. We mostly just need to connect things now.”

Church’s projection chuckled, arms folded. “See, Tucker? I told you! _Bitch work._ For a _prisoner.”_

 _“_ Dude, shut _up,”_ Tucker said with less bite than normal as he gathered the parts Wash had directed him to.

“I am _so_ embarrassed for you,” Church continued to chuckle before turning fully toward Tex. His head tilted to the side. “Hey, what are you doing back already? I predicted you’d be, y’know, torturing and ruining the other prisoner guy for at least another ten, twelve.... Twenty hours! Y’know. Get bang for your buck.”

“The prisoner is unexpectedly annoying,” Tex said firmly.

Church scoffed. “ _Unexpectedly?_ What are prisoners if they’re not annoying?” He turned his gaze toward Wash. “Like you. Full-of-shit, guy.”

Wash’s eyes flickered toward Church then to Tex. His gaze lingered a moment too long before he finally looked back to the robot parts and knelt down to help Tucker. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Church snorted. “No such thing as Red or Blue. What an asshole--”

“Church,” Tex said clearly, bringing his attention back to her. “We have to figure out how to get my AI out of Caboose.”

“Are you _still_ on about that?” Church asked, sounding almost bored. “Caboose is _fine.”_

Tucker’s head snapped around to glare at Church. “Caboose tried to kill me! _Multiple times!”_

Not missing a beat, Church continued, “ _Better_ than normal.”

“I want it out,” Tex pressed. “And I’ve already put one plan in motion for that to happen.”

“Just brag about it, why don’t you,” Church replied candidly before waving his hand. “No, seriously. What’re you up to? I’d like to know if you’re going to have Sheila blow up any more of our shit. Especially if you’re planning on messing up my base.”

Immediately, Tucker dropped his tools and whirled around to glare at Church. “ _Your_ base?”

Washington picked up the tools and raised a brow at Tucker and Church before continuing the work where Tucker had left off. 

“ _My_ base because Blue Team is _my_ team, Tucker,” Church said firmly. “I’m the leader! You’re the one who didn’t want a promotion. _Or_ to have to deal with making plans or orders.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t make it _your_ base!” Tucker cried out.

“Do you people get _any_ work done around here?” Wash asked as he completed one of the robot’s front sides. 

“No!” Church and Tucker yelled in unison.

“Everyone shut up,” Tex ordered. She waited as all eyes turned on her and then she pointed back down the hall toward the hold. “While I’m thinking up something new to do with Caboose, I have him watching the prisoner. He’s not giving me any information so I figured out the best solution was to put two annoyances together at once.”

They stared at her like she was speaking a different language all of the sudden.

“How does that solve _anything?”_ Tucker asked. “Now we have two annoying problems just annoying each other.”

“Exactly,” Tex said. “My AI and I shared a head for years. What I thought, he thought, what I hate, it hated. And considering it’s a very angry, very easily annoyed AI--”

“Like someone else we know,” Church stage whispered.

Tex moved to punch him only for her fist to go through his projection’s shoulder. 

“Ha! Got you there, bitch! Ghost powers for the win,” he jeered.

“I get it,” Wash said, just before Tex readied herself to jump _just_ for the sake of matching Church’s projection and being able to physically fight him. She turned and looked at him. “You’re thinking that if you are so aggravated with the two of them, then the Omega AI must be doubly so. Best solution is to aggravate him out of your rookie’s implants if you can. It’s the least invasive route.”

Tex stared at Wash before nodding slowly. “That’s right.”

His tired eyes seemed clouded by something, something she wasn’t quite familiar with and yet haunted her all the same. It was like she knew those eyes. “I admire that,” he said. 

“Do you really?” she asked.

“Well,” Wash said, growing a lopsided smirk that didn’t quite fit his face. “When you’re not being a bitch.”

Despite herself, Tex huffed out a laugh. Wash near matched it, and they were caught there, stuck in a conversation they had never had before and _yet_... She knew it. She’d felt it before.

Church’s head was whipping back and forth between them so quick, his projection lost focus. He raised up his arms animatedly. “The fuck? Tex! You’re gonna let him get away with talking to you like that? No asshole talks to you like that. Except me. But you slept with me, so--” He froze. His light flickered in and out and then he was turned directly to Washington, shaking with rage. “Dude!? Have you slept with my girlfriend!?”

Face dropped, Wash looked almost like he was going to be ill. “ _God_ no!”

Tex stared at him. “What? Is that completely inconceivable to you, Wash? What the fuck kind of response was that?” She then turned to Church and ground her teeth. “And by the way, fuckface, if you want to know if I’ve slept with someone, how about you ask _me._ I’m standing right here.”

“Oh, I can’t trust you,” Church said with a wave of his hand.

She looked at him completely mortified. “ _What?”_

 _“_ I think we both know what I mean by that,” Church said, turning just enough to glare her way.

Heart pounding, Tex thought up every way possible for her to strangle the photons that were making Church’s neck projection when Tucker stepped up and held up his hands. 

“Yo, can we _not_ fight right now?” he asked. “I kinda want to know the deal with Caboose. Like... how concerned should I be right now about getting murderized by him. I would kinda like to know.”

“Yeah, well, tough luck, buttercup,” Tex snapped. “We might not _get_ to know yet. Like I said, both of those two were annoying me into a blind rage. And I don’t even know the pink guy’s name.”

Wash scratched at his head. “It still makes _no_ sense to me that almost none of you in this canyon have standard issue colored armors. What is with that? Why is everything personalized?”

“Maybe _Command --_ you know, the one you apparently don’t believe in -- just likes us more,” Church said, trying to seem cheeky.

It fell flat enough for both Tex and Washington that they simply stared at the projection hollowly. It made the ‘ghost’ flicker slightly as he looked between them. 

“Oh, please, _lighten up_ already,” Church growled. “You two are the most melodramatic people in existence.”

Tucker, apparently having enough of the awkward, turned himself fully to Tex and put ran a hand over the top of his helmet. “So,” he said with a light shrug. “the thing with Caboose. Like... if it _doesn’t_ work, we just have the two people we’re most concerned about watching each other. Probably plotting something.”

Church gave Tucker a bizarre look. “Caboose. _Plotting._ Really, Tucker?”

“Hey, anything can happen!” the aqua sim trooper defended.

“While I do think it’s more serious than you’re letting on, Church, I’m not really worried about it,” Tex said simply. 

He gave her a glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I can kick anyone’s ass, so I’m rarely worried about handling myself. Especially when Tucker and Washington here _get off their asses_ and finally finish those bodies for us,” Tex said. “Until then, I’m just glad enough to have them off my back. Those two were beginning to _drive me crazy.”_

She didn’t think anything of the phrase -- not any more than the other banter shared between all of them -- but there was a strange churning in her lower body. 

It was as if something she had felt safeguarded from without ever realizing was completely unlocked to her. It felt like whatever tendrils the native AI had in that area were snipped away and suddenly her tensed guts were set free.

And, suddenly, Tex realized there was a warm sensation in her midsection. One she could capture the frequency of.

“I’m sending out a radio signal,” she announced. 

The three stared at her blankly.

“What?” Church voiced. 

“The... body, my body -- the stupid body you stole. It has some sort of signal I just unlocked on accident,” she said, raising her hands as she looked down at herself. “It’s transmitting. I don’t know what it’s transmitting to.”

Washington dropped his tools, looking slightly mortified. “Is it a Recovery Beacon? Are you contacting Freelancer--”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him stiffly. “Stay right the fuck where you are,” she snapped. Once Wash eased back, Tex shook her head. “No. Not to Command. I’m signaling... signaling to Red Base. Something _on_ Red Base. I activated something, but the readout is all in Spanish. I can’t make heads or tails of it.”

Squinting at her, Washington was obviously beginning to edge into fight or flight mode. He wasn’t believing a word she was saying. 

Which was not something she could spare much of her concern on at the moment. She looked back to Tucker and Church instead. “Look, something from Red Base is remote activated. And before I feel comfortable doing anything else, we need to figure out what it is.”

“What do you think it is?” Tucker asked.

“Did you not just listen to her? She said she doesn’t know, dipshit,” Church snapped. 

“It could be anything _left_ operational on their base since we last saw them,” Tex clarified. “I don’t know. And I don’t know what my signal could do. I just know that we all need to _back up_ and figure out what we can with what we have.”

Tucker scratched at his helmet’s chin. “And we have...”

“The Red guy,” Tex replied with a thumb in the direction of the hall. “I want you, Tucker, to figure out what’s going on. Interrogate the Red guy, find out what you can. Got it?”

He stared back at her. “Uh... _no?_ Like find out what--”

“Find out what he wanted this robot body back for to begin with. It was probably related to this. I’m standing here and watching Wash finish the rest of my goddamn body,” Tex snapped, eyes darting to Wash.

The former Freelancer slowly lowered, picked up the tools he had thrown down and continued working. 

Groaning at having to follow yet another order, Tucker walked to where his gun was leaning against the wall and started to walk past Church and Tex. 

She reached far enough to grab Tucker’s shoulder and hold him back. 

When he looked at her, Tex lowered her gaze meaningfully. “Tucker, listen to me. If you get suspicious... take the Red guy _out._ Understand?”

“Man, remind me to not be on your bad side. _Ever,”_ Tucker sighed. “Yeah, I’ve got it. Whatever. Be a soldier. Ugh. This army was way more fun before all these assholes started to show up.”

Tex watched Tucker leave then turned an eye to Church. “You going to follow him?”

“Yeah, and leave two Freelancers alone, great plan,” Church said sarcastically. 

“You don’t trust me,” Tex repeated, as devoid from emotion as she could. 

“No, I don’t,” Church said back. He looked to the hall then back. “But... I kinda trust my guys even less, so...”

He disappeared without further fanfare, and left Tex feeling hollowed out again, listening to the mechanical whine of Washington finishing up the robotic bodies. 

* * *

Wash wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the situation at hand.

Much like what he had told Tucker just before, he would have much rather had the aqua sim trooper’s gun trained on his back than Tex’s.

And after their shared moment, that went even more so. Tex did not seem very amused with him.

“Are you going to make bedroom eyes at me again?” she asked, voice low.

“Sorry,” Wash replied quickly. He was so close to done with the robot kits. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Yeah. Sure you don’t,” Tex snapped. Her body twitched once but her grip on her pistol and the aim of her sights on him didn’t falter even for an instant. 

Then again, Wash supposed even after it all, they didn’t call Tex the best for nothing.

“What was it?” she asked all of the sudden.

Wash kept quiet for a moment, his hands busy at work, before he glanced to her. “I said I didn’t know why--”

“No,” she cut him off. “Your AI, Washington. Which piece of him did you get? What was so bad that he’d rather kill himself over and over again than try to remain implanted in you?”

There was a bout of silence between them, filled only by the squeak of Washington’s wrench. He thought his options over carefully in that time, whether or not it was even worth answering. 

Then he lowered the wrench to his side and looked carefully back at her. His jaw was closed so tight he could feel it in his ears.

Tex didn’t give him an inch under his stare, but she didn’t make a move for him either. She merely waited until Wash took a breath and lowered his head. 

“Memories,” he explained darkly. “I... the memories. So many that sometimes I close my eyes and I don’t see where his ends and mine begin. So many that I look into the mirror and don’t see a man who was ever named David.” He refocused on her and -- well, it was _always_ her when he looked up. Even in the times when it wasn’t. “I remember, Tex. That’s the part of Alpha they shoved inside of me. That’s the piece that couldn’t live with itself. Can you even imagine why?”

The stale air of the sim trooper base seemed to only grow tighter between them in the silence that followed. 

Finally, Tex shook her head once. “If you’re looking for sympathy for _that,_ you’re barking up the wrong tree, pal,” she told him coldly. “I don’t need memories. I _lived_ this.”

Grinding back on his teeth, Wash couldn’t stop himself from shaking his head. ‘But do you _remember_ it!?” he demanded. “Because I sure as hell do. I can’t make heads or tails of a lot of it but it’s _all_ here,” he tapped on his temple. “And if Freelancer knew... if they knew what I know, well, I just can’t imagine being free to move around as I please like I do now. If I’d be alive at all.”

Tex remained unmoved. “Why are you here, Agent Washington?” she demanded.

“I was trailing after Wyoming,” he told her again. “All of _this_ is just an accident.”

“No,” she said firmly. “You are a competent _special operations_ agent. I _left_ you in the care of a sim trooper I’m at least halfway positive has not shot his gun once since being stationed here -- not even for practice.” Her head tilted down dangerously. “You didn’t lift a finger against him. I find that questionable. _Highly_ questionable,” she continued. “So enlighten me. _What_ are you doing here still, Agent Washington?”

He couldn’t look away from her. His every nerve felt like it was on fire when he was under her gaze. He swallowed dryly and decided the only safe answer was the ugly truth. 

“I’m here to survive,” he answered at last. “I’m here for my survival. Because I can’t survive around Freelancer with what I know. Because I can’t survive by getting away from here because of what the program involved me with.” He looked at her icily. “And I”m here because... due to all that, I don’t even know where I’d go right now anyway.”

Seemingly accepting that, Tex nodded her head back. “And because you want back at at least _one_ person who’s shot you in the back lately.”

He knew the pointed accusation wasn’t for nothing. He tilted his head enough to look her in the eyes and said crisply, “Wouldn’t you?”

When she didn’t answer, Wash lifted the wrench one more time to continue working. 

“I’m good for at _least_ as long as getting back at Wyoming is concerned, like I told you.. Maybe more if the Alpha--”

“ _Church,”_ she hissed. “He’s _Church_ here.”

Washington glared her way. “Doesn’t he want revenge?”

“He wouldn’t know,” Tex said back. 

Somewhat not believing what he was hearing, Wash looked at Tex. “You’re not even _planning_ on letting him know what happened?”

She stayed firm. “He deserves better than to have to remember,” she said at last.

Wash stared at her for a long moment. He felt like she had reached right into his brain and turned off a switch. His jaw hung sorely open for a beat then he felt himself crack a little.

“He deserves better,” he repeated before a bubble of laughter escaped his closing throat. “Than... than to have to remember.”

Dropping the wrench, Wash covered his face. His entire body was shaking with the laughter. It was loud and obnoxious and it was rocking his body so hard he could feel it ache in his bad shoulder.

Tex kept her distance but she finally lowered her gun, watching Wash while his bubbling laughter converted into bitter sobbing.

“God damn it,” Wash sobbed into his palms. “God _damn it!”_

They kept away from each other, but Tex didn’t say a single cross word either. And in that alone it was the most genuinely nice thing anyone had done for Washington since the moment they implanted Epsilon.

When Wash managed to sober up, Tex nodded to him. “You’ve got Blue Base,” she promised him. “At least as long as Wyoming’s both of our problems.”

He searched her face, but there was no expression with the armor. Just hollowness in her gaze. 

“I guess I should thank you,” he said breathlessly.

“No,” she replied. “You shouldn’t.”

His legs were still shaking and Wash felt his way to the couch Tucker had sat on earlier, sinking into it without protest from Tex. He buried his face into his hands and just breathed shakily even at the clanging of metal boots neared the rec room.

“Tex! You won’t believe it!” Tucker’s voice carried. “Caboose got the Donut guy to tell us about your robot body’s dongle! It sounds important.”

Weakly, Wash managed to look back to Tex. “... you have a Donut guy?”

She shook her head. “Wash, first rule of Blue Base: don’t question them more than you’re ready to not care for the answers.”

He took note. 

*

It took a while for Wash to catch his breath, and he couldn’t help but irrationally blame his literal meltdown on Tucker’s insistence that he had one beforehand.

The thought lingered even after Tex and Tucker switched out while Wash remained determined to stick with the robot kits over even one more minute with Tex.

He wondered, considering how much else he had to be angry about at the moment, if it was going to make Tucker an easy target for that overwhelming feelings of anger and a need for revenge he just got done spilling his guts about.

To his constant surprise, however, as much as Tucker served as an irritant, he was difficult to build genuine levels of aggression toward.

Sitting on the couch again, hand lax on his battle rifle, Tucker watched Wash with minimal intrigue. Instead, he was biting his lip and constantly working at beginning to move his jaw and form words only to pull back and given an aggravated sigh.

By the fourth time it happened, Wash completed the first of the robotic bodies and was able to spare Tucker a glance. 

“Whatever it is you want to ask,” Wash spoke up, shocking Tucker some, “just promise me you’ll keep it from this stupid Red and Blue stuff. I’ve had my fill of crushing your spirit already today.”

“Sure thing,” Tucker replied without missing a beat. “Did you and Tex fuck?”

The noise that came from Wash’s throat was _not_ a dignified one.

“ _Why_ would you even _think_ that!?” 

“Dude, you two look at each other like you have history -- believe me, I know these things when I see them. _And_ the two of you have some big secret you’re not telling anyone -- especially _Church._ And all of that adds up to heavy _heavy_ boning behind someone’s back,” Tucker said in confidence.

Wash stared at him in complete disbelief. “In no world do those incredibly _circumstantial_ things add up to a guaranteed explicit affair.”

The aqua armored trooper’s entire body moved under the force of his eye roll. “More like _every_ world. And look, honestly, good on you if you got in Tex’s pants because, fuck, I’ve been trying since the literal goddamn second she appeared. _But_ Church is like... I don’t know. Not friend. He’s like... _my person._ So I can’t keep getting friendly with you if you and Tex played _where’s the pistol_ together behind his back.”

Wash raised a brow at Tucker. “Your _person?”_  he questioned. 

“Yeah, I mean. Y’know. Like the dude you’ve always got covered and he’s always gonna have you covered back,” Tucker replied. “Like whenever you’re turning in and you’re supposed to check if your guy’s back safe, too. Your person.”

“I’ve heard of _battle buddies,”_ Wash replied. Then, somewhat sardonically, Wash added, “This ‘person’ stuff sounds _dangerously_ close to having a friend, Private.”

“Oh, you’re in the military, Wash,” Tucker shrugged back. “You know people who serve together are better than friends.”

Wash felt himself cringe. He _did_ know. But an entire military career later and he had never so easily referred to someone as his _person_ like Tucker had just then. It almost made him feel sick to think of how far he had ran in the other direction rather than commit to such a thing.

Still, as he finished the second body, Wash realized he had been handed a perfect route to escape the affair conversation.

“You want to know what’s between Tex and me?” he asked Tucker seriously. He waited for Tucker’s nod before continuing. “I guess... she’s my person right now. We’re both former Freelancers. We both know the same things from the program. We both aren’t looking to share with people outside of it. Right now, that’s what it is.”

Almost sagely, Tucker nodded to this explanation. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “I can get that.”

Feeling some relief of not having Tucker’s intense focus on him, Wash nodded back and returned to his work. 

It was almost fate that the moment he finished, there was the loud clanging of boots rushing down the hall and into the rec room again.

Wash and Tucker both turned to see the familiar chipping cobalt armor Tex had been wearing standing at the entrance and looking at them all almost expectantly. 

“I’m done now,” Wash assured her.

The robot stared back with absolutely no reaction. There was a long, silent pause where eventually Wash turned to Tucker for some sort of cue. But, of course, the aqua sim trooper had nothing to give.

Tucker tilted his head. “Uh... _Tex?”_

“Error. Error. Estoy ubicado en territorio enemigo. Nueva prerrogativa: volver a la base roja. Inmediatamente.”

There was another pause between them all in which Wash couldn’t help but narrow his eyes and tilt his head like a confused cocker spaniel. “ _Whaaat?”_ he asked.

“Oh, shit,” Tucker said, standing up just before the robot turned around and bolted again. “Oh, shit oh shit-- I didn’t think it’d actually happen!”

Confused and slightly concerned, Wash looked at Tucker. “That _what_ would happen!? Why was she speaking Spanish?”

“That wasn’t _Tex_ speaking Spanish,” Tucker groaned, like it was Wash that was saying ridiculous things. “That was the Red’s robot. It’s hardwired for Spanish. It took us fucking _forever_ to figure out how to turn it off so Church would stop screaming shit that we didn’t understand.”

Tilting his head back some, Wash felt like his brain had been halted by the new information. There was a lot to process in all of that. “Okay,” he began slowly. “ _Why_ is their robot programmed in Spanish? And why is it running off without Tex in charge of it?”

“I guess he finally got strong enough to break free or whatever the fuck Tex’s been bitching about for the past three hours,” Tucker replied before growing a strangely malicious smirk. “Guess he had _too much for her to handle._ Bow chicka--”

“Tucker, shut the fuck up.”

Tucker nearly jumped out of his armor as Tex projected beside him. And though she was not much more than a hologram, the soldier visibly flinched away from her in preparation for some sort of hit.

Not that Wash could blame him.

“The robot got away, that’s all there’s to say about that,” Tex said. “I don’t give a fuck anymore. Let him.”

Again, Wash and Tucker found themselves looking to each other. 

“Oookay,” Tucker verbalized.

“So I guess you know that the bodies are ready,” Wash said, throwing a thumb toward his past day’s pursuit. “So with that, who cares about the one you stole.”

“Yeah, great, those are fine,” Tex replied dismissively, not even looking toward the constructed bodies. “We’ll use those after Church and I get back and you two work with Sheila on the rest of the plan.”

“Get back?” Tucker repeated. “Where the fuck are you two going?”

Even more suspicious than Tucker, Wash gritted his teeth. “ _What_ plan?”

“I’m _telling_ you,” Tex snapped. “Get armored up, Wash. You and Tucker are heading over to the Reds while Church and I check in on this _O’Malley_ character personally.”


	20. Recovery Two VI: The New Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> South and North make nice with Control's crackpot team, but the team may not be so ready to make nice with them. Nor do the twins fully understand the exact dealings of their deal with the devil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had meant very much to get this chapter knocked out a lot sooner so my apologies for the minor delay. On the bright side it gave me extra time to concentrate on how painful some of the upcoming events are going to be : ) 
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, Yin, and @lulublue1014, staininspace, MeteorAtDusk, PrettyArbitrary, @analiarvb, and Sir_Wobblefish for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

The armor clicked as it locked in place. 

There was a certain finality to the way the pieces came together, the twist of the various latches and the wheeze of the compression between the protective armor and her survival suit’s layer beneath. 

It felt locked, loaded. Ready to go.

Like a weapon with the safety finally off. 

The sleek blackness of the armor was hard to adjust to. Even as she looked over her hands she could feel a certain alienness to it. 

For _years_ her signature orchid and green armor had become her signature, had been worn like a second skin. It defined the end of her life as a normal soldier and sister and redefined it, however loosely, as _Agent South Dakota_ and _the twin._ A distinction that was probably far more important to her then, in passing, than it had ever been before. 

But change was… _good._ Just maybe. Just perhaps. 

She stood in the armor, leaned back and straightened her soldiers. Her feet shifted a few times, back and forth, letting the feel of the weight sink in. 

The armor was tighter to her chest, less uniquely fitted than the Freelancer armor. But at the same time that pinch took what she knew to be a greater weight and managed to more evenly distribute it across her front and back. 

South had never even realized, however tiny, the balance had been off before. 

Her shoulders flexed as she rotated her arms, felt the range. 

Everything seemed improved more or less, which she supposed only made sense. No one updated models in order to make them _worse._ No one sane, in any case. 

Feeling secure enough, she turned and faced the bathroom mirror of the grungy gas station bathroom and finally took a look at herself fully decked out. 

The figure looking back at her was imposing, ruthless, _cold._

There was a sharp way the helmet looked as she turned her head, a sort of unknowing brooding conveyed by the slimmer and more darkened visor. It made her _predatory_ almost. 

It didn’t look like South, not even with her colors brandishing the few accents available. 

Instead it looked like a monster. Which was almost quaint considering what she wanted to be at that point.

Her attention was finally drawn away from her own image by a rapping of knuckles on the outside of the door. And it took no guesses to figure out who _that_ was.

Leaning forward on the sink, hands gripping the porcelain, South looked over her shoulder to the door and hissed angrily, “ _What,_ North?”

“I’m just wondering how long it takes to put on this fancy new armor. Especially considering we’re somewhat _sitting ducks_ out here if that thing is really going after AI and equipment,” he called out through the door. “Not that I want to worry you, but I _do_ happen to have both.”

Sneering, South shook her head. “What’s the matter, North? Afraid?”

He hummed. “ _Afraid_ is not the same as _concerned_ , for the record,” he replied. “And, really, you are taking entirely too long to just change clothes. I’m _sure_ it doesn’t make you look fat. I believe black is very slimming.”

“Shut up,” she ordered. “By the way _, you_ were the one who always took forever in the bathroom. I always hated that. I used to set my alarm early just to beat you to the shower.”

“I never noticed. Especially not when you never woke up the first ten times it went off,” he replied dryly. North waited a moment before knocking again.

“Goddamn it, North – _what!?”_ she growled.

He waited a moment before asking, “How’s it look?”

With a roll of her eyes, South sighed and straightened up. “Why don’t you come and see?”

As if he was about to intrude anyway, North opened the door before the last syllable was even out of South’s mouth. 

Like almost always, he ducked slightly to get into the door and then straightened up as if the extra vertical really helped with his assessment of his sister. 

South _tried_ to not think of it as her brother looking down his nose at her. Tried, but failed. 

When a few moments had passed and North had finished tilting his head from side to side, he merely stood back and crossed his arms as he looked at her. His eyes drew over her armor from head to toe one last time and then he stayed focused on her eyes. But other than that, he gave her nothing. 

South didn’t think she had ever felt more miffed by something.

“Well?” she snapped.

North tilted his head. “’Well’ what?” 

Narrowing her eyes, South crossed her arms herself and shifted her feet. “It’s not like you to not offer up an opinion the second it comes into your head. Especially not when they’re about _me.”_

He smiled almost hopefully at that, a certain twinkle meeting his eyes. “Are you _asking_ for my opinion? Because I can give if you–”

“No, asshole,” she said as she gritted her teeth. 

“Then I won’t give it,” North said with a shrug. 

“What? Since when?” she asked suspiciously. 

“Consider it a new resolution,” he replied. 

“Bullshit,” South snorted. She put her hands on her hips and looked down to herself, shifting back and forth from the balls of her feet to her heels and watching the reflexive tensile strength of her new armor mesh. 

After a quiet moment she let out an aggravated swear and looked at North. He blinked in return. 

“You’re honest to god not going to give me your opinion without me asking,” she marveled.

He smiled in that freakish, annoying way she hated so dearly. 

“Fine,” she spat. “North. Opinion. _Concisely._ Go.”

“I don’t think it looks like you,” he said a beat too fast.

“Makes sense, it’s the _new_ me,” she replied, refusing to acknowledge her similar assessment. 

“There’s a bulk problem,” he said, pointing specifically to the size of her shoulder guards.

“Already tested. Turns out, the weight distribution’s even _better_ than the Freelancer ones,” she said with a shrug. Despite the fact that the effect was mostly lost due to her helmet, South turned a wicked smile toward her brother. “That all you can throw at me?”

 _Concern_ filled his eyes as he swept over her again. “This seems like a _huge_ gift for such a short engagement between you and them,” North continued slowly. “And it’s _experimental._ So I’m a little… off put. I’m wondering if it has setbacks we’re not aware of.”

“Guess I’ll be aware of them soon enough,” South said crisply.

North stared into her eyes for a good, long minute before a bright light flashed over his shoulder and disappeared again. He didn’t acknowledge it, as if he was pretending it didn’t happen, but South saw it all the same.

“What’s his input?” she demanded.

“He wants to know why, if we’re putting an end to Freelancer and to these experiments with the AI,” North said lowly, eyes grown colder as he looked almost through her, “then why would they be making a new, experimental armor with a feed into our neural implants and a slot for an AI.”

Refusing to give an inch, no matter how unnerving the question posed, South just shook her head and made her way to the door. 

“Some things, North, are just none of our business,” she said.

“If you say so,” he replied tightly, his voice not able to convey being unconvinced any better if he had tried.

* * *

Leaving South to more extensively test her suit, North returned to watch over the station’s roof.

It was a small place, on the main roads of the colonies to the East, but apparently folded in like so much else on the tiny planet since Freelancer began massive downscaling. 

When he asked South about the mass abandonment she mentioned their new employers took some hand in it all. But she also seemed to think any further clarification on the subject of the people sponsoring their efforts was needless given their meeting with the team as soon as the next day.

North still wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with all of that.

Instead, he stuck to his guns in the most literal sense of the word.

He set up his spot, surveyed broadly with his binoculars, then with Theta’s thermal scans. Finally, he set up his rifle and waited for anything out of the ordinary to appear in his sights.

As usual, he didn’t even react as the bright blue and red glow of Theta appeared over his shoulder. 

“Hm,” Theta vibrated.

“Penny for your thoughts, Theta?” he asked easily, pausing his sweep just to watch South doing some laps in her new suit.

It didn’t seem to slow her down. Good.

“I’m just thinking about what you said before to South,” the tiny AI replied. 

“You’ll have to be more specific,” North said. “I say _many_ things to my sister as it turns out.”

“The thing you said about her armor. It having an empty AI slot?” Theta clarified.

“Ah,” North returned. “I definitely can see why you’d have an invested interest in that one.”

"You can?” Theta asked almost worriedly.

North frowned slightly. “Well, I’m not trying to worry you or anything, but… It seems to me that South’s mystery contact has an agenda all their own,” he pointed out. “One that’s probably more interested in Freelancer’s technology and experiments than on just ending it all together.”

Theta grew quiet, but a slow, tingling vibration warmed the back of North’s neck. It felt something like his hair standing on end. It was also enough for North to lower his gun and finally fully look at the AI’s projection.

“Theta?” he asked, brow furrowing with concern.

“Would they want me?” Theta asked. “I’m a Freelancer AI. A really good one. I already run equipment and everything.” Then, quieter, “They’d probably take me away. They’d probably put me in a machine.” 

Straightened up, North looked seriously at Theta. “Look at me,” he ordered.

Immediately, the AI did so.

“I will _not_ let that happen,” North promised with unwavering confidence. “So you don’t need to even be concerned about those things, Theta. Forget I even mentioned them. Because they’re _not_ a concern. Alright? I’ve got you.”

The buzz in North’s head slowly came to a halt and Theta looked almost approvingly back at his partner.

“Yeah,” the little AI said with a bob of his head. “Okay.”

Nodding back, North slowly eased back into position, taking aim carefully through his scope. 

Theta provided a helpful stream of information through the helmet HUD screen.

Everything was safe and clear for the moment. It was only the three of them – North, South, and Theta. 

North desperately wished it could be kept that way. And the hum in his mind gave him the impression that his AI very much shared the sentiment.

“I don’t think I can trust these new guys tomorrow, North,” Theta almost whispered. “I don’t think I can even _try.”_

 _“_ That’s okay, Theta,” North assured him. “I wasn’t really planning on trusting this so-called team too much either.”

“Good,” Theta said. 

“The only person we need to trust is South,” North continued firmly. “And I feel like she makes _that_ enough of a chore on its own. So as far as I can see it, everyone else involved needs to watch their back.”

“Okay, North,” Theta agreed more hopefully. “I can do that.”

North nodded and put his sights back on his sister, feeling relieved as she nodded and talked to herself, apparently satisfied with the armor’s performance. 

He _had_ to believe her plans for them would work. And it was _exactly_ what he kept telling himself. 

Trusting that would be enough to make it true. 

* * *

Her gift from Control had been something quite extraordinary when it came down to it. Even North’s nagging doubts and the justified questioning of the AI slot in the armor were _something_ to stir in the back of her mind. 

At the very least, it was something she could quietly examine when her brother wasn’t looking. 

Until then, she maintained her solid front and left him without the opening to further question her as she led them toward the coordinates Control had left in the helmet’s HUD readout. And because of that, North followed with little to no protest. 

There was still the annoyance of the flicker of light over her brother’s shoulder from time to time. 

Theta liked to show up, bob his head back and forth to words South did not hear, and then flicker out of existence again. 

In those moments, North was the most distracted. His attention torn between following South and participating in whatever private conversation was going on in his own head between himself and the Freelancer AI. 

It was the sort of secrecy that made South’s blood boil as she watched them. 

Finally coming to a halt, she turned and glared their way.

“This it?” North asked as he came up alongside her. 

“No, but close,” she said back thinly before putting her hands on her hips. “What the fuck is _up_ with you?”

North’s head tilted curiously. “Come again?”

“Are you planning something?” she demanded. “Are you going to get all in your own head and fucking _ruin_ everything just for fun?” she demanded more haughtily.

“What? No. South, why would you even think that–”

"Stop talking behind my back,” she ordered. “Even if it’s in your head, North. Do you _honestly_ think I don’t catch onto when you’re doing it?” 

North grew silent, but Theta appeared predictably over his shoulder. The little AI kicked his feet as he looked down to them. “Sorry, South,” he apologized. “We didn’t mean anything by it.”

Lip curling, South shook her head and pointed away from herself. “Don’t even _try_ the little guilt trip thing, kid. I’m not in the mood for it.  Take it somewhere else.”

“We’ll stop, South,” North promised. “But not _everything_ is about you. We were just _talking._ No plotting, no evil schemes. Just talking. We thought you’d get annoyed with us taking up space over the radio, what with you having so much else to pay attention to.” He tilted his head. “Unless, of course, you’re going to act like it _wouldn’t_ have made you just as, if not _more,_ pissed off at us if we played I Spy over the channel.”

She stared at her brother. 

“You were _not_ playing I Spy,” she snapped.

“Um, actually… kinda yeah… we were,” Theta mumbled.

“You fucking nerds,” South snapped before turning around and continuing her lead. She hesitated for a moment and looked over her shoulder. “And by the way, Theta, the _real_ reason North had you guys not playing over the radio? It’s because I _always_ win I Spy.”

“Oh, I know,” Theta said. “I’m in his brain.”

North looked wildly between the two of them. “Now wait a minute – I don’t like this whole you two agreeing sort of thing.”

South smirked and turned back to business.

The coordinates were close, but South had taken note that Control had very much guided them far away from the intersections and what colony hubs remained on the planet. Instead the rather desolate field was their destination. 

And as they made their approach, South took the effort of listing all the things she wasn’t liking about the terrain. Which was amounting to a _lot_ the further forward they went. 

There wasn’t any cover to speak of, and even the grass was dried and dead, like so much else on that region of the colonies. 

It felt like a trap, and to a degree she expected it to be, even as they heard the tell-tale signs of a Hornet flying overhead. 

North froze, looking up worriedly and already reaching for his gun. South’s own hands moved to her sidearms but she hesitated, watching as the vehicle passed just above them and began to circle around for an approach. 

She scanned it and immediately felt relief wash over her as the vehicle’s markings lacked the Project Freelancer emblems and instead clearly read the stamp of the UNSC. 

Perfect. 

“Calm down, North,” she said somewhat hypocritically as she moved forward and dropped her hands from her sides. “These are our guys.”

He kept his rifle in his arms but straightened up, following in step with South. “Quite an entrance. And here I thought it was you and I who were going to be late to this rendezvous of ours.”

“Please,” South snorted, “I’m the boss. The party doesn’t get started until I show up.”

“Sure,” North hummed. 

They came to a stop just as the Hornet landed and waited as it powered down. There was a certain tension that was still clear in the air as it did so – the usually broad and clear windows of a Hornet were deeply tinted and hid whoever was inside.

South chalked it up to her own experience that she wasn’t the least bit surprised when the first body to step down out the side of the vehicle was the fucker who couldn’t take a hint about not wearing her deceased friend’s armor.

However, North was less prepared for it. 

“What the hell?” he demanded, making a point of stepping up along South’s side. 

“ _This_ fucker is on the team?” she demanded angrily. “Really?”

The not-CT stepped off and looked back with the same amount of disdain as was coming at him. He didn’t want to be there either, but South could not have cared _less_ about what the man wanted. 

He stepped forward and glanced toward North, pausing his stride a few feet from them and putting his hands on his hips. “Ah, the _sharpshooter_ is with us now. I’m CT.”

“No,” North said firmly. “You’re not.”

Theta flickered to life over North’s shoulder and nodded in agreement with the assessment. “But that _is_ her armor.”

“We’re not calling you CT, asshole,” South snapped. “And this is North. He’s not just a sharpshooter, he’s my point. And, to a lesser degree, I suppose he’s also my twin brother.”

“Oh, I’m familiar with just who he is,” the man said in a low rumble. “I’m _very_ acquainted with him.”

A little caught off guard by the statement, South turned and looked curiously at South. He shrugged right back at her and then looked at the man. 

“Afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,” North said, sounding _far_ more bold than afraid to say anything to the man daring to wear an armor their friend had reportedly died for. 

“Guess I didn’t leave enough of an impression for you on the highway then,” the man hissed. 

South’s glare hardened. “The highway?”

While she and North exchanged glances, her brother shrugged unhelpfully toward her. They both looked back as they heard the clanging of something else moving on the Hornet. 

The man had a precise limp in his step, but he was large, bulky, and his armor was clearly black and red with a fierce, flaming emblem of a fist on his chest and what looked like rows of teeth drawn onto the visor on his head. 

“CT” didn’t move to look toward the second individual but crossed his arms and nodded back in his direction. 

“Maybe my friend did a better job of it than I had the opportunity to,” he offered. “After all, it’s not every day someone you drop a goddamn _building_ on comes back to join your team.”

South saw North twitch in the corner of her eye. 

Her own mouth went dry and she focused on CT even as the second man came hulking over to his side. South’s eyes narrowed – the armor of the second teammate made the connection all the more obvious, even for her despite not having seen the mission for herself either time.

“You’re part of the Insurrection,” she said lowly.

North turned and glared at her. “We are _not_ working with the Insurrection, South. That’s what got CT killed–”

“ _YOU_ do not get to _say_ her name!” the man in her armor snarled, stepping up to North.

“Insurrection,” the second hissed between deep laughs. “You Freelancers are such _fools._ There was never any Insurrection.” His head turned more toward North, honing in as he stepped closer. “Just bloodshed of soldiers – _real_ goddamn soldiers, not you labrat filth – by _your_ hands.”

Somewhat impressively, North just held his ground. 

“Do you have something you want to say to me?” North asked dangerously.

"I wouldn’t waste my _breath_ speaking to _you,”_ the aggressive Insurrectionist snarled as he took another step toward North. “But I’ll _gladly_ spend my time ripping out your heart and crushing it in my palm.”

Theta appeared over North’s shoulder and shook his head. “No thanks.”

Without a second thought, South stepped between her brother and the supposed teammates sent their way. She put her face in CT’s and snapped, “You two have a goddamn problem? How about you let _me_ settle it for you? I’ll put your asses _in the ground_ before you can blink. Now back. Off.”

“It was _enough_ of an insult when Control propose putting together a team with _you,_ blondie,” CT snarled. “But _this?_ Working with _him?”_ He glared at North over South’s head. “After he was part of the team that took out all of my soldiers? After what _he_ did to us? Do you know what kind of fucked up ways he killed our people?”

North’s head tilted and Theta all but disappeared. “Welcome to war,” he said unapologetically.

“We were a _goddamn security detail!”_ CT roared. “From the _real_ fucking army. You remember what _that_ was?”

“We’re not doing this,” the Insurrectionist hissed over CT’s shoulders. “We’re out.”

“Terry, you _know_ that’s not an option for you anymore, man,” CT offered, turning just enough to look at his partner. “We won’t work with this scum, but we can’t say no entirely.”

“ _Terry?”_ South snorted. “What a name.”

Angrily, the Insurrectionist pointed at her. “Shut your fucking face, bitch! You can’t ever call me that. My name to you is _Sharkface._ Got it? Call me Terry again, and you’re going to _burn.”_

North snorted that time. “What kind of name is Sharkface?”

"Also, sharks don’t tend to _burn_ things,” Theta’s smaller voice chipped in, though his projection shined behind North’s shoulder that time around. Whatever confidence he took in defending North didn’t seem to extend to throwing insults as it turned out.

“I can get very creative in how I _kill_ you,” Sharkface growled, his fists raising up to ready and _do_ something. 

“The great thing about me is I don’t get torn up about creativity,” South snapped over all of them. She settled her sights on CT in particular. “I just get it done.”

Before another cross word could be thrown, there was a booming, “Enough.”

The filtered voice was clearly that of Control’s signature synthesizer, and it quickly forced all four of them to look toward the UNSC Hornet. 

Almost reflexively, the two former Insurrection soldiers turned around and faced the faceless voice. North and South took the time to once again exchange looks and a small sense of relief between the two of them. 

“I have united this team not to settle petty squabbles but because I am only interested in results,” Control reminded them darkly. “And because I also expect excellence from those I work with. CT. Sharkface. While your loyalty has always been commendable, I must remind you that your injuries and losses have been more indicative of your _failures_ to me than they are of any individual member of Freelancer’s personal responsibility.”

The two soldiers looked almost like they had been stricken by gunfire.

North whistled at the insult. 

“Meanwhile, Agents North and South Dakota since first approached by my organization and our aspirations, have done nothing but serve as an example of what can be accomplished under Control’s direction,” the voice continued. “Their addition to your dwindling squad should not be considered a final insult toward our shared enemy rather than a lowering of your standards.”

Rage was radiating off of the two soldiers, but their heads were kept low and they didn’t so much as dare to glance toward North and South. The only movement really made was for the supposed CT to put a hand firmly on his partner’s shoulder as they stood in adherent silence.

North crossed his arms and tossed his head to the side. “Remind me _not_ to disappoint our new friend,” he said with a glance toward Theta and South.

“Control,” South spoke up, ignoring her brother’s remark and stepping toward the Hornet where no doubt a camera was pointed their way. “I’m guessing everyone on this ‘ _team’_ of yours has something handy for getting us inside of Freelancer Command and that’s why it’s organized this way – blah blah blah. Got it.” 

She contentiously pointed toward the Insurrectionists. “But I can’t guarantee you jackshit if either of these two don’t follow my instruction. You _do_ realize that, don’t you?” 

“They will be the most trustworthy of operatives in the field, Agent South,” Control promised. “As ready to serve your command as your own armor. I see that it suits you.”

Rotating her wrists comfortably, South nodded. “Fine,” she said. “North is my point. And I give him the right to shoot for insubordination. That still golden by your standards?”

The two soldiers looked toward the Hornet, slightly surprised.

“Of course,” Control responded without missing a beat. “My concern is clearing the objective of this new phase, Agent South. What you must do in order to assure that victory for us is agreeable to us.”

South smirked. “Wonderful.”

* * *

The cockpit of the Hornet was not nearly large enough to count as private, not with the former Insurrectionist soldiers standing in the back by the wings while South took controls, but it was enough for North. 

He stood behind his sister’s chair and watched as he set them for launch and took to the controls with ease. 

“Didn’t realize you were certified for this craft,” he said somewhat amused. 

“I’m full of surprises, even for you,” she replied as they began to lift off. 

North stared at her intently for a long moment before South finally tilted her head toward him and added, “Also, I’m not. But fuck it. How hard can it be?”

Theta hummed nervously.

“I trust you,” North said, only half jokingly as they took off. 

As they took to the air, North kept his gaze locked on his sister, watching intently as she navigated them through the airspace over Freelancer. It somewhat surprised him how much more he felt willing to follow her after her little declaration back to Control.

“So I get the impression you’re also pretty trusting of me, too,” he decided to say at last. 

Theta flickered on and nodded happily before disappearing again. He was trying so hard to remember South’s preference for not having him show up in their private sibling talks. 

South snorted. “I don’t trust you, what’re you talking about?” she asked, a significant lack of bite in her words. 

“Ah ah _ahhh,”_ North said, waggling a finger at her. “That’s not what you just said earlier. You said I was your point. That’s pretty trusting–”

“Oh, shut up,” South snapped. “I trust you as far as I can throw you. I just don’t trust these other assholes at all.”

Leaning over the top of South’s chair, North rested his chin and hummed softly in return. “You shouldn’t count yourself so short, Sister. You can throw pretty damn far.”

There was an honest-to-god laugh from her. “Fine. You’ve got me there. I have a fucking amazing arm – lucky for you.”

The air grew silent, save for the loud rotation of the propellers. 

South tilted her head back. “You going to earn that trust and keep an eye on my back during this? Not undermine me around these assholes I _really_ need to follow my command?”

North looked at her seriously before nodding. “You’ve got it, South,” he promised. 

“Good,” she said, looking back to the path ahead. “Then I don’t regret making you my point.”

“I hope you never do,” North replied. 

They didn’t need to share any other words for the rest of the trip. South knew exactly where to go for Freelancer Command, and more than that knew exactly how far away to park them to get away from any sensors or surveillance equipment. 

When they landed there were two teams – South’s unit with their unsavory acquaintances who would be going in, North and Theta positioning themselves on the nearest rock facing and keeping observation.

She led with confidence and a ferocity that would hopefully keep even former enemies from questioning her. It was the sort of confidence that North had only hoped to someday help his sister grow again. 

Theta approved. 

North wasted no time in getting set up himself. 

* * *

Leaving North and Theta became exceptionally harder than South first imagined it would be. 

Logically she made sense of it with the fact that they were the only ones who she could really trust on Control’s half-baked excuse for a team. And because leaving them for outside guidance and surveillance meant abandoning the only other people who could have navigated Freelancer’s inner workings with the knowledge that she had. 

And if it stretched into something more than that, South refused to acknowledge it. 

Instead she led Control’s lackeys with some amount of disdain. 

The hot temper that the so-called Sharkface had put on display earlier should have put him at the forefront of her mind, but South couldn’t tear her eyes off the other Insurrectionist.

The gall he had in wearing CT’s armor – let _alone_ go by her codename – was enough to make her blood boil. She would’ve given just about anything to have full permission to rip him out of it.

But, supposedly, she needed him for the moment.

The approach to Control’s facilities was unremarkable. As stellar as the technology was and as impressive as was the number of bodies given guard duty was, there were several checkpoints she was allowed access out of sight. 

In Recovery’s crackpot plan to keep Wash out of the loop in regards to South’s status as an agent, they had left known holes in their security to her, avoiding checkins and more just to keep her away from their precious Agent Washington.

She took a certain amount of glee out of exploiting them then in order to get herself and her team into the center of Command and onto the first layer of the base. 

Once they cleared the first guard patrol and entered inside the base, she turned her attention back to personal goals. 

The moment they were through the clearing, South took the side of CT and allowed Sharkface to take the momentary lead in checking the halls.

Almost immediately, the armor thief was put on edge, peering back at South in the slitted yellow lenses of CT’s armor.

“You said before that I had to be pretty fucking cocky to pick up where the _real_ CT left off in your stupid spy operations here,” South reminded him viciously. She ran her tongue over her teeth, readying for her words like a lioness readied over prey. “You know what I think of all that? I think _you’re_ the pretty goddamn cocky one. Trouncing around in her armor, with her name. You’ve taken the things she actually _died_ for, and not even your boss is impressed with you for it.”

He audibly gritted his teeth and pressed forward himself. “You want to do this _now?_ Fine,” he spat. “Let’s talk about what a shitty fucking job your so-called team has done at preserving Connie’s name.”

South’s nostrils flared. “ _CT.”_

There was a pause and he looked at her quizically. 

“She went by _CT,”_ she hissed clearly. “She didn’t like going by ‘Connie’ anymore because it made her sound like a child.” Her head tilted as she accused, “Someone close enough to her to take her things, her name, her _legacy_ should know at least _that_ much about her.”

The fake CT squared more with her, his shoulders broadening. “You think you know everything?”

South grinned at just how far she’d gotten under his skin. “I _know_ I do,” she replied.

For a moment, her body tingled with the thirst for a good fight, and she was elated that it was with _him._

But the back of her mind also buzzed with a separate awareness, drawing her eyes back down the hall to where the other former Insurrectionist should have still been.

It was hardly a surprise when he _wasn’t_ anywhere to be seen. 

South turned her gaze back on the fake CT and huffed. “I know your partner can’t follow orders to save his life.”

He stared incredulously at her for a moment. “What’re you–”he paused and turned to look for Sharkface before muttering, “Goddammit.”

At once, they both took down the hall, neck and neck, attempting to catch up to the third member of their party.

“You realize we cannot afford to set off any alarms yet, right?” South hissed at not-CT. “You idiots aren’t supposed to be any good, sure, but I thought at least _that_ much would have been clear to you.”

“My soldiers were the greatest fighters in the UNSC, and _more_ than equipped for a stealth mission,” he snapped back. “He’s fine. He’s not going to do anything to endanger bringing your former leash holders to justice.”

“The moment we get to a terminal I can access and I hook up this drive to FILSS, we’d only have ten minutes before her security scans would figure out there was something wrong anyway,” South reminded him. “And it seems to me like your buddy is giving us even less than ten.”

“It’s under control,” he snapped.

They both skidded to a halt as there was a cut off yell and a ball of fire engulfed the hallway intersecting with the one they were on. 

South snapped her jaw closed as soon as the heat stopped pouring across them and glared at CT. He was trembling with anger. 

“ _Terry,”_ he hissed under his breath before rushing ahead. 

Staying a few steps behind, South watched as the former leader rushed past the charred soldier on the ground and came right up to where Sharkface was adjusting his gauntlets. 

"What the _fuck,_ man!” CT hissed at him. “We needed to operate in _stealth–”_

 _“_ He was guarding this room with an access terminal,” Sharkface snapped back, waving to the newly opened room. “He didn’t have a rotation, he wasn’t patrolling. Just standing there. I got him out of the way. 

“We need _time_ to work,” South snarled as she came up to them. “You just cut that time in _half_ at best.”

Sharkface didn’t budge, his visor gleaming as he kept looks locked with South. “I told Control… Freelancer was going to burn to the _ground_ for what it did.” His hand gesture toward the guard. “It’s started.”

South didn’t relent, only getting more in his face. “You don’t make another _move_ without my permission. You don’t let another body drop to the floor without my permission.”

He didn’t budge. “Shouldn’t you get moving? _Boss?”_ he asked snidely.

Grinding back on her molars, South turned enough to glare at CT. “Are you a competent enough leader to fucking _watch_ him for two minutes and keep him from fucking anything else up?” she demanded.

CT crossed his arms, quickly choosing his sides. “Are _you?”_ he taunted back.

“Both of you stay right the fuck here or I’ll end you,” she ordered. She took a step toward the room and paused before looking back at the brown armored bastard. “And, _by the by,_ it’s called _delegating._ A decent fucking leader could recognize what the fuck it was. But since you’re obviously not one, I’ll stop letting you try to earn stripes with Control.”

There was a twitch of reaction in his stance, but South could hardly feel good about it. After all, they were right: she had to move fast. 

The access panel was not all that much unlike the smaller version hooked up in her former room at Command, and she had made quick work of it in order to get her business with Hargrove set up to begin with. She didn’t feel all too concerned about doing it again, and with actually useful _tools._

She neared the computers, producing the drive Control had given her. 

FILSS’ all seeing eye popped up during the approach, staring at her intently. “Warning,” her calm voice said, “I am not detecting Freelancer personnel cleared for this area. Please leave the premises or locate the nearest personnel to escort you off site–”

“I have clearance, FILSS,” South said as she stepped up to the computer.

There was a momentary pause. “Oh! My voice recognition software is detecting that you are Agent South Dakota, alias Recovery Two.”

“That’d be it,” South replied as she readied the computer for inserting the drive. 

“This is a curious anomaly! I am afraid there is something wrong with my systems,” FILSS continued. “I do not recognize your bioscans or the signature frequencies of your field combat amor. Also, my records show you to be reported as KIA.”

South looked up with a smirk. “I got better.”

“That is most wonderful news, Agent South!” FILSS said. “I shall… correct…”

There was a low, stuttering noise as South watched the drive upload. 

“I… am detecting… foreign software,” FILSS began to say, voice confused and more than a little concerned. “For some reason my attempts to block its running is not working. It is… overwriting. I-I believe I have a virus. This is unfo-fo-fo-fo-fo–”

Not sure what was happening, South tilted her head and neared the screen. “FILSS?”

“–fo-fo- _unfortunate_ n-n-n-news.” 

The AI halted under a series of clicks. A second window popped up on the access screen and a download progress bar began. 

It seemed to be working and South allowed herself to breathe some relief. 

Until FILSS’ calm, soothing voice returned in a broken, shrill scream of pain. 

* * *

"Is all of this going to work, North?” 

Theta’s voice wasn’t trembling with apprehension as North would have once expected it to have been.

Really, North only realized in that moment as he set up his gear just how much stronger Theta seemed to sound. He looked over the small sprite before continuing to set up. 

“I trust South will do whatever it takes to make it work,” he answered truthfully. “We both will.” He twisted on his modified scope, studied the fit of his rifle carefully. “What’s your take?” he asked.

"I think it’s great that you trust South!” theta beamed.

“Hmm, true,” North replied as he lowered himself to his stomach. “But I think we both know more of what I meant.”

As North adjusted himself and his aim, Theta made his projection sit on North’s shoulder and started kicking his feet. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Theta sighed. “I know what you mean.”

In the periphery of North’s HUD, a readout of various percentiles and suggested alternatives to projected situations scrolled by. There was a trusted, low hum in his mind that Theta was feeding him even more of the information than he could process on his own as well.

“Want to translate that one for me, Theta?” North asked. He squinted as he noticed an unexpected motion in the distance with a bright gleam. North followed it with his rifle cautiously. 

"Sure thing,” Theta responded almost eagerly. “There’s lots of things that could go wrong. Like. A _bunch._ But statistically I think we’ll be okay. Almost all the outcomes are good for us with these variables, I think.”

North felt a frown tug at his lips before he finally magnified his scope. He swore under his breath as he saw the distinct armors of Carolina and York in the distance, heading toward Command’s storage facility.

"Theta,” he said in a hushed tone.

“Uh-oh,” Theta murmured as the HUD readout cleared and began reanalyzing. 

“Yeah,” North sighed. “Add _those_ variables. _Damn it,_ York.” He narrowed his eyes as Carolina and York came to the very doors South and the other soldiers had used. “Don’t go in. Don’t go in. _Don’t do it.”_

Theta flickered on closer to North’s line of sight. “North! What do we do?”

Deep down, North knew the right answer, the _soldier’s_ answer. Especially with the mission and his sister at risk.

He took a deep breath, held it, and focused until the two former teammates were under his reticle. 

North waited, unmoving, as everything lined up.

Then, as Theta came to a gasping standstill in his mind, North dropped his head. He gasped for air, sweat beaded over his forehead. 

For the first time since basic, when he looked to his hands, they seemed to be shaking.

Theta appeared in his vision, horrified and relieved all at once. 

“ _North,”_ he whispered. 

“Get a hold of South,” North ordered. “Tell her she’s going to have company.”

The tiny AI hesitated, looking at North in confusion. 

“Theta,” North begged.

“Were… were you going to do it?” Theta asked. “If I didn’t… If I _wasn’t_ …”

“You have to tell South what’s going on, Theta. _Please,”_ North tried again.

For a moment, it seemed as if Theta was going to continue being stubborn, but his sprite at last flickered out.

Trembling, North tried to force his breath to even out again and to look through his scope. 

Without Theta’s attention, North’s hand stopped shaking. And try as he might, North couldn’t remember if it was shaking before or after Theta’s gasp.

He caught the tail end of Carolina and York sneaking in. But he couldn’t pick back up on the patrolling military police before Theta returned.

That time Theta was in hysterics. His projection could barely keep focus and North found his own brain overwhelmed in a wave of anxiety and fear. It was enough to make him want to vomit.

“ _Theta!”_ North choked out.

Getting nothing useful, North manually reached up to his helmet and turned on his radio. “South! Company! You’re getting some–”

Words failed North as his earpiece finally picked up on what Theta had been in hysterics sobbing over in the back of North’s implants. 

On South’s end of the radio there was a blast of mechanical screeching intermixed with FILSS’ voice being torn to pieces.

North dropped his gun entirely. Theta continued sobbing. 

“What the _fuck_ are we doing?” North whispered.


	21. Intermission: First Loyalties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile...
> 
> Within Command, Niner's cover up is strained.
> 
> And at the power plant, Wash's intrusion is discovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Now for a short interlude of sorts : ) 
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @prettyarbitrary, staininspace, Bluebird202, Yin, and MeteorAtDusk for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

Niner carefully held her head up, focusing on the monitors. Her eyes kept forward and she watched the monitors _so_ carefully, her internal clock ticking away at the seconds, praying to the stars that Carolina and York were still as good, if not _better_ than she remembered them being.

They should have finished with the supply cache at that point and have moved on to the bowels of Command’s storage facility for who the fuck even _knew_ what.

“Come _on,_ Carolina,” she hissed before glancing toward the three constant monitors overhead.

The three of them lorded over her. The first wrong, giving Zero’s last known coordinates as nearly half the continent away. The second mortifying, displaying several glaring alerts including _MIA_ and _CRITICAL INJURY_ across One’s name and last transmission transcript. The third _devastating,_ with Two’s name overwritten by the flaming red text screaming _KIA_ across it.

Each screen made her blood run cold. All of them were failures of Command – _her_ failures.

But she hoped to find pride in at least one of them. 

Clutching her headphones closer to her ears, Niner waited for word from Carolina and York so intently she almost didn’t register the footsteps behind her.

But she _did_ still hear them coming and she was quick to turn her chair just as the door to her command center opened. The Counselor came to stand at her proverbial doorstep.

He stood there, looking in with that infuriating stance that loomed and seemed to say he knew answers to what he was about to ask already. Like he’d already caught something he hadn’t yet. 

Niner hated that look when she didn’t have anything to hid and she _especially_ hated it now that she _did._

“You’ve got a lot of nerve dragging yourself in here right now,” she growled.

There was a chance that if she went immediately for offense, she could quickly shift his focus. And, perhaps, make it that much easier for him to turn around and try again with her later. 

With time of the essence and each _second_ bringing Carolina and York a moment closer to being caught, it _had_ to be worth the risk. 

The Counselor’s well practiced face did not react to her outburst immediately. He merely turned his head and appraised her carefully before moving his gaze to the screens overhead. 

"Ah,” he said, as if the screens told him anything different than what his own palmtop would have. His eyes settled back on Niner. “Are we upset over the recent… _misfortunes_ with our field agents?”

Setting her jaw, Niner flared her nostrils at him. “I don’t know about _we,_ but _I_ sure as fuck am not happy,” she told him truthfully. She then gave him a scrutinizing look over. “But you seem to be doing just _fine,_ all things considering.”

Her pointed words were not lost on him. The Counselor tapped the butt of his pen against hist tablet. 

“Unfortunately, the needs of my position make reacting emotionally to challenges… disadvantageous,” he replied crisply. “I can allow the rest of you to react as needed instead.”

Niner snorted despite herself. “How noble of you to not care about losing some agents,” she sneered. 

“You misunderstand,” he replied solemnly. “I care _very_ much about the condition of my agents.” He tilted his head. “Including you.”

Not liking the conversation being turned back on her, Niner scowled in return. Her grip on her chair’s wheels tightened. 

“What exactly about me do you find yourself caring about all of the sudden, Counselor?” she demanded. 

"Four Seven Niner, I have always been very concerned for you,” he replied. “You have been through severe trauma, as well as have been put in a position of _severe_ stress.” His eyes returned to the screens. “In fact, I believe you take the success and failures of our operatives extremely personally. I worry that you may have forgotten to concern yourself more with the fact that you have family that needs you.”

In an instant, Niner felt herself rendered breathless and cold.

“What did you just say?” she demanded darkly.

“You come from a large family,” the Counselor said in faux innocence. “I simply felt in these stressful times that you would do good to remember you have such a family to return to.”

A silence carried heavily between them for a moment and then the Counselor nodded before walking out.

“Good work,” he complimented.

Niner’s body shook violently as she stared out the door. Her body hardly reacted to the cackle of static in her ears as Carolina’s radio finally turned back on.

* * *

“What an absolute _mess.”_

The power plant had been somewhat in disarray before they had discovered. Like much of the testing grounds being evacuated, it had been left in a rush by soldiers who had barely ever understood the full impact of facility while they were in it.

But the equipment they had need for was in tip top shape. 

Gary would have had it any other way. 

“You would think an old friend would have had the decency to _unplug_ things,” Wyoming continued as he looked at the wall where the missing capture unit had been resting. The former Freelancer clicked his tongue and shook his head before glancing to the blue glow projecting from the main screen. “Not tear the bloody wires out of the wall.”

“It is very rude,” the AI droned before projecting a small sprite. It nodded downward from where it projected. “Reggie.”

“Hmm? Find something, did you?” he asked before walking closer to the computer. 

As Wyoming knelt, Gary disappeared again, letting the marksman see the splatter of blood on the floor unobscured. 

“Well, well, _well,”_ he chuckled. “It seems clear old Washington didn’t fake for us back at Battle Creek after all. And here I’ve been so concerned for the reputation of my follow through.”

When Gary appeared again above him, Wyoming glanced to the AI with something of a knowing smirk. “Don’t suppose this is enough to make him lie in some ditch outside, do you?”

“Coupled with Agent Washington’s known determination… _no,”_ the AI replied.

“Hmm,” Wyoming hummed before tapping his fingers against his gun. “Do you think he knows what’s going on?”

“No,” Gary replied. “Unless he also was contacted, I do not believe he would be aware of the location.”

Wyoming wiggled his mustache. “ _Would_ he contact Washington?”

“Yes. Maybe.”

Sputtering, Wyoming gave the AI an incredulous look. “Why, whatever _for_ while we’re on the case?”

The AI wasted no time in saying. “Knock knock.”

Knowingly, Wyoming leaned back. “Who’s there?”

“Competitive prices.”

“Damn,” Wyoming sighed with a shake of his head. “Well, in that case we’ll have to kill him ourselves. Nothing like some friendly competition, after all.”

Gary agreed in silence just before a blip began to ring over the radio.

Wyoming glanced to his AI. “That him? Well speak of the devil!”

The AI hummed before giving a definitive, “No.”

“Bell bugger all, who is giving out our number? I signed us up to be on the intergalactic no call list, after all,” Wyoming continued to joke just before the AI pulled up the territory map and positioned a flashing beacon on the bases of Blood Gulch.

“Now isn’t _that_ interesting,” Wyoming replied. “Are you friendly with the sender?”

“Yes,” Gary responded quickly. “Very.”

“Then you handle that and I’ll step out and tell those overly religious fellows nipping at our heels that we’re on the move again.”

As Gary’s projection disappeared, presumably to do as told, Wyoming made his way back to the door, grabbing the remaining capture unit on the way. “Always such complicated business with other Freelancers involved,” he sighed as he walked out. 


	22. Recovery Zero VII: Allegiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> York and Carolina try to make a stealthy run through Freelancer's main storage facility only for complications to pile up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was supposed to come out last Friday. Whoops! But I got to flesh out a lot more in the process and am really happy with the pace we’re moving at in the plot for now. I mean, it’s not in the 30s yet, which is when I’m really excited to start writing some of the stuff that will be happening, but I think we’re finally running a consistently exciting streak! I always worry about individual chapters not being exciting enough on their own for you guys lol Hopefully that won’t be too much of a concern from this point on!
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @prettyarbitrary, staininspace, Yin, and NidgetMinja for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

As they rode on, York surrendered himself to the fate of being in the passenger seat. 

There was still a fairly thick layer of biofoam knitting his hairline together and the cooling factor of his Delta-mediated pain meds was an added bonus in the overbearing sun. Such things usually did not bode well for driving.

It had been almost twenty minutes since the last time he asked to drive and Carolina rejected the idea forthright. York was almost proud of himself. 

For her part, Carolina had been concentrated on the road and whatever plans their disastrous impending raid on Freelancer Command would require once they got there. 

Delta just aggravatingly stewed in the back corners of York’s mind, making the implant at the base of his skull feel as though it was vibrating. 

It made York wonder what gambit of emotions Carolina had gotten to share with Eta and Iota in their comparatively short partnership. If they ranged in their hums and frequencies the way Delta did. If they complained about ‘thinking too loudly.’ If Carolina had also memorized every hum and pause like a second heartbeat, and knew what each and every one of them meant. 

If those things were what she missed the most without them there.

 _Your thoughts are rather somber, York,_ Delta alerted him. 

“They’re reflective, Dee,” he offered with a shrug. 

She didn’t say much, not that she needed to with the sideways glance Carolina gave and that dim tint it gave her visor, but Carolina did make it known that she wasn’t the happiest with hearing half of a conversation.

“Sorry, lost track of my thoughts,” York apologized in as smooth of a way as he could manage. 

“It’s fine,” Carolina said. “I understand.” 

And though nothing got through their helmets, York could feel himself smile at that.

 _Your mood has improved drastically,_ Delta sighed. 

 _Don’t seem so excited about it or anything, buddy,_ York replied as he leaned back in his seat.

Almost immediately backpedaling, Delta explained, _I want you to be as content and happy as possible, York. Make no mistakes. Statistically speaking, your ability to complete objectives and to avoid injury improves significantly when dopamine and endorphins–_

 _Point, Dee,_ York pressed. 

 _I believe you should pursue your current avenue of feelings, York. Because it will improve your performance and it will better ensure your survival and safety. Which, of course, are_ my _primary objectives._

Almost instinctively, York looked back to Carolina and took a heralding breath. He still had the same dreams – this drive but on a freer world, a more beautiful landscape. No need for armors or helmets. Carolina’s hair free for the first time since he met her. And she’d know every time he was staring at her that it was because she was making him smile.

That seemed so distant from the present, even when they were so close together. 

Taking a breath, York threw an arm over his helmet’s visor and set back against his seat. 

 _I know I can die doing all this for her,_ York explained calmly to his friend. _But I know I’m not the kind of person that can_ just _survive, either. If I’m not living for her – looking for her, risking for her – I’ll just jump at the first opportunity available to live for_ something _else. And I don’t think I can be happy doing that – I can’t be happy for living for revenge or closure or any of that bullshit. But I can be happy even dying for her._

Delta’s hum increased. _I don’t like that, I want you to survive, York._

_Living just to survive will kill me faster than anything Carolina has planned, Dee. Living and surviving… they’re just not the same._

_The simple solution is that I won’t let you die for any of it,_ Delta replied. 

“Hey,” Carolina spoke up, nodding his way as he lowered the arm slung over his head. “You alright?”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, boss–”

“York, it’s not thoughtful. Your brain was bleeding a day ago,” she said, and he could just hear the eye roll in her voice. 

“Physically, York is well, Carolina,” Delta replied. “However his morose mood makes me feel he is dealing with guilt that could cloud his self-preservation.”

“Tattle tale,” York snapped at the AI even before he fully projected over York’s shoulder.

“There’s a simple solution to that,” Carolina said, drawing both of their attention to her. She didn’t take her eyes off the road. “I order you to _take goddamn care of yourself,_ Agent York. Don’t want to disappoint me, do you?”

He looked at her carefully before letting out a small huff. “No, never.”

“Fantastic, we’re all good then,” Carolina replied.

Delta tilted his head. “I do not believe either of you have a psychology degree.”

“You two sound _so_ similar sometimes, you know that?” York asked wryly. 

“No, we do not,” they both said automatically before casting sideways glances each other’s ways. 

It amused York far more than it should have. 

“The amazing part is that you’re _both_ offended by that statement,” York chuckled. 

“I am not offended, I am correcting your simplification of the facts, York,” Delta declared.

“I’m offended,” Carolina hissed. “Not that there’s anything wrong with Delta just–” She turned her head enough to glare straight at York. “Do you honestly believe I remove myself from any emotions when I make decisions?”

York blinked a few times. “Uh, no. But I mean… have you _met_ Delta? Mister Analytical is not nearly as lacking in the emotionally compromised department as he likes to pretend all the time.”

“I am _now_ offended, York.”

Carolina looked back to the road, growing strangely silent for a moment. “I don’t want you to think of me as doing things only logically,” she said coldly. “People who only consider their own objectives… they hurt people. People that need them. If I’m doing that then… then I’m no better than him. Than _they_ are.”

Feeling as though he was missing part of the conversation, York leaned back and waited for Carolina to finish. 

“I need you because of that, you know,” Carolina said, nodding over to him. “I need you because you keep me from being that.”

“Then I guess I better do a good job of sticking around and doing my job,” York replied. “Which, by the way, I already plan on doing. Even if it means breaking into Freelancer and any other nonsense you’ve got cooked up in there in your big ol’ brain. Because I’m officially past the point of no return.”

He wished with everything in him that he could see whether or not that made her smile.

“Technically we _could_ still turn the vehicle around at any point in this–”

“ _Emotionally,_ Delta. I’m talking about _emotional_ point of no return.”

“Ah.”

* * *

Command was near impossible to infiltrate.

The number of guards, the top of line surveillance system, key card and identification for access doors, and the twenty-four seven watch of FILSS herself made the mere idea of infiltration laughable to almost anyone outside of the select personnel given that highest level of trust.

Which Carolina supposed was fortunate considering she very much had that as Recovery Zero. 

York trailed behind her as she navigated them across the grounds. 

And that in itself was something that felt so good and so natural she hardly knew what to make of it. 

They remained wordlessly in sync as they traveled to the central access point.

In the last stretch, they were in an opening with no cover until they got inside. Delta calculated the patterns of the guards, gave the go ahead, and they left themselves momentarily exposed before reaching the door.

York put his back to the wall and readied his shotgun as Carolina began using her clearances to open the door. 

“Is a shotgun the most pertinent weapon for this” she quietly mocked. 

“A man needs his signature, Boss,” he joked before glancing over his shoulder toward her. “I could pick that much quicker if you want.”

“No,” Carolina joked back,” because while you try waving an inefficient firearm around as your signature, I now your _real_ signature is sounding alarms.”

York feigned a gasp and looked at her. “I’m hurt,” he said.

Delta appeared over York’s shoulder. “It wasn’t really necessary commentary,” the AI chided.

“Yeah, it was _rude,”_ York said, self assured.

“And redundant,” Delta added. “We are all three aware of York’s field record.”

Tilting his head toward Delta, York grunted, “Dee, whose side are we on here?”

“Always yours, York.”

“Yeah? I don’t feel the love,” York replied in a huff. 

“Quiet both of you,” Carolina shushed as she opened the door and reached to turn the cormm on in her helmet. York fell in line behind her. “Niner, I just used my Zero clearance to get in the building. Can you make sure that info stays between us?”

The moment she stopped talking, Carolina felt her helmet fill with a thundering static. She quickly turned it off and waited until she and York had cleared another corner before giving the radio another go.

“Niner. Come in, Niner,” Carolina demanded. 

York stared at her expectantly before Carolina nodded toward a nearby room.

“I’ll just have to erase the trace myself. C’mon.”

He kept in step, as good as always, but he didn’t quite allow the explanation to stand. 

“You can do that?” he asked curiously. 

“Not as easily as Niner could from a Command central line, but yeah, I’ve done it all before,” she answered. “I just need to ask FILSS to overwrite the information for me.”

Delta projected again. “That would be dishonest.”

Nodding along, York added, “Yeah. Pretty sure AI don’t care for that too much.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Carolina sighed as she pulled them toward the nearest access port. She logged in confidently, ignoring the eye peering over her shoulder, and waited. _RECOVERY ZERO_ filled the screen. “Okay, FILSS, I need some favors.”

They waited in silence for a moment. Then York and Delta glanced at each other. 

Confused, Carolina tapped around on the screen. “FILSS?” she asked again. After another silent beat, Carolina looked around. “No. Wait – this doesn’t make any sense. FILSS is never offline.”

“Okay, but now she is,” York said calmly. “No big deal, right, Boss? Just tell us what to do next.”

She turned, irritated that Plan A was already so easily disassembled. Carolina reached for her comm again. “Come in, Niner. I _need_ you to pick up,” she growled.

When static filled her helmet again she let go and slammed her fist into the wall by FILSS’ viewscreen. “Damn it! Already going to shit!”

York nodded his head. “Well, when you look at it with _that_ attitude, sure.”

Carolina looked at him seriously. “Do I have your support?”

“Don’t you always?” he asked back too easily.

Delta blinked back on and tilted his head at the declaration, rightfully suspicious of where the conversation was going. 

“We need to split up,” Carolina announced.

York took a second, gave a deep breath and let his shoulders drop before he shook his head. “Okay… so. In a supportive way: that’s a _horrible_ plan.”

“It’s Plan B,” Carolina assured him. “We’re racing against the clock, don’t know the time, and our eyes just got blinded.”

“I believe the accurate phrase here is… _too soon,”_ Delta offered as he blinked out and then reappeared on York’s left side for emphasis.

“Ignoring the wise guy act here,” York said, waving his hand through Delta’s hologram. “I _really_ don’t know how comfortable I am with this, Carolina. You keep saying we’re taking equipment out of here but I still don’t know what _equipment_ means. Or how much.”

“Then you should be happy because you’re going to get to decide that for yourself,” Carolina explained before pulling up the schematics from the last time she was invading the storage facility on her own. “I’m sending these over to Delta. You’re going to go where the armor enhancements are and pick clean anything that will be helpful to us.”

“More healing units,” Delta said almost dreamily.

“Like my speed booster,” Carolina replied crisply.

“Fine,” York accepted with a sigh. “And you?”

“I’m going to the AI room,” Carolina answered. “Mine’s the part of the plan we know for sure. I’m going to find the Director, and Epsilon can tell me where to go for that.”

York was a good soldier, he accepted his orders, but even with their helmets on, Carolina knew he wasn’t smiling at her anymore.

* * *

York was _not_ happy. 

He was obedient – smooth and suave didn’t carry bodies far across the finish line in a battlefield, after all. But he was by no means happy to follow through with the split Carolina had commanded.

 _Scooby and Mystery Gang never solved their case until they came back together at the end, Dee!_ York reminded his companion as they took a left to Carolina’s right. 

 _So you have repeatedly made me aware,_ Delta hummed back.

 _You know where else split ups happen?_ York continued, finally latching his shotgun to his back and reaching for his handgun. _Horror movies._

 _The most realistic of entertainment genres,_ Delta noted dryly. 

 _Douchebags die first, Dee,_ York sighed. _And I don’t want to ever sell my charms short but, just sometimes, I worry I might toe that line a bit._ He paused, putting his back to the wall. _And douchey guy is paired with bitchy girl, who’s also quick to die._ He looked down the hall to where Carolina had long since gone. _That doesn’t describe Carolina, right?_

 _Why would you have to ask?_ Delta questioned.

York glared at Delta. _Because she ain’t the_ virgin, _Delta._

_Neither are you._

He went on the move again, following Delta’s map projected on the HUD of his helmet. _So we have to hope this is more Scooby-Doo than Halloween. What do you think?_

 _I think you utilize humor and pop culture references to bury legitimate concerns when you’re nervous,_ Delta replied nonchalantly. _I also mark this as an improvement to your more morose morality thoughts from before. And I partially contribute all of it to the added dose of painkillers from your healing unit._

York hummed to the thought before getting them to the access door of the store room Carolina wanted supplies from. He began pulling out the key card panel and examining the wire expertly. Without further hesitation, he pulled three of them. 

 _Well, I think you’re jealous because robots can’t get high off drugs_ or _the power of love,_ York decided.

 _And that thought would be incorrect,_ Delta snapped back.

The access panel lit up green and the door opened. York whistled as he walked inside and shut the store room door behind him. 

“Wow, that’s a lot of aisles of junk,” he said as he walked forward. When Delta appeared over his shoulder, York nodded to him. “Do me a major favor, Dee, and find out what’s usable on the shelves and what’s too dangerous.”

“We’re avoiding dangerous, untested equipment,” Delta assumed.

“What? No, of course not. That stuff’s the _best,”_ York replied with a grin. 

Delta sighed and disappeared as York walked toward the shelves casually. The list slowly began scrolling over the part of York’s HUD where the map used to be, highlighting the weapons and armor enhancements in view. Many on the list weren’t even recognizable from their endless and boring debriefings.

“Where the hell is this stuff even _from?”_ he asked, pausing by armor enhancements with a symbol he had been very familiar with after living with North. 

“Mostly failed in testing experiments,” Delta explained. “ _That_ belonged to Agent Utah.”

Withdrawing his hand from it, York allowed the chill to shake through his body. Most of them had been there to see the unfortunate fate of Utah testing the early bubble shield. Watching it had been a rude wake up call to the dangers of the program for most of them.

“Okay, let’s avoid _complete_ testing failures on that list,” York suggested.

“I was planning on it, York,” Delta countered as he directed York to the healing units an Carolina’s much desired speed boost.

"I think active camo would be a good one,” York suggested s he began packing up Delta’s highlighted items.

“Both registered to this facility are currently removed from storage,” the AI informed him.

“Damn! Just my luck,” York sighed. “Well, we’ll need at least _one_ enhancement not on Carolina’s list. Show her she was right to put faith in our scavenging abilities at the end of the day.”

As he continued, Delta tilted his projection’s head at York. “Do you believe that is why she sent us on our way?”

“I choose to believe it,” York sighed again. “The alternatives put me in a… what mood did you say I have these days?”

“I called you _morose,”_ Delta answered.

York rested his hand on another inoperable bubble shield and took a deep breath through is nose. “Yeah. That one,” he replied. 

“Forgive me for pressing this issue, York,” Delta said, flickering his projection to where he seemed to be standing on the counter looking back at York. “I am simply concerned that another reason for Carolina’s insistence on separating is that there is something she does not wish for us to see.”

Frowning, York knew he couldn’t deny to Delta that he was _very_ concerned about that very issue. They shared a brain, after all. But he also didn’t want to dwell on the subject. At _all._

 _“_ Let me put it in this morose way,” York finally explained. “If there’s something ‘Lina doesn’t want to share with me at this point? I’m not so sure I even want to know it.”

Delta hummed at that just before his projection’s light flared up brighter and tinged in yellow. The vibration in the back of York’s head grew more impatient and buzzing along with it. 

"My motion sensors have been activated. I believe we have company.”

“Fantastic,” York hissed before dropping into a crouch and brandishing his sidearm again. “Delta, going dark.”

“Executing.”

His AI going back into the confides of their shared brain, York began inching forward through the room. _Scooby-Doo or Halloween?_

The AI sighed before caving to the logic and replying, _I do believe we_ are _currently solving a mystery._

York smirked, reloaded his gun, and turned the corner only to fall flat on his face. 

“What the–” he began before looking back to see the flicker of something dark laid across the floor where he had tripped. The light finally connected and where active camouflage was once active, a crisply burned lump of body armor and soldier remained. 

Eyes widening, York sat back up. His heart was pounding.

“ _Jesus!”_ he whispered. He reached to his helmet for his radio. “ _Carolina!_ Carolina, pick up. I don’t think we’re the only ones breaking in today!”

Without warning, Delta flashed back into existence in front of him, vibrating at a physically shaking frequency in the back of York’s skull. “Alarm! Proximity alarm!”

“What!?” York called back to the AI.

“Hey, York,” a hauntingly familiar sounding voice said behind him.

He began to whirl toward it, gun first, but he felt the fist through his helmet before he saw the black armor with its orchid and green trim.

York hit the floor, vision blurring before he heard South’s voice very loftily say, “Payback’s a bitch.”

* * *

The AI store room was exactly where she remembered it being. 

Carolina navigated the halls with passing familiarity before coming across the exact door. Her nerves tingled as she approached, remembering the strangely drawing pulse of the last time she had come into the room.

The absence of Eta and Iota’s harmony felt that much more acute as she entered through the door.

There was a more worried calm in the room that time around. Her sensitivities to the hums and whispers of the broken programs was greatly diminished and it wasn’t until she reached Epsilon’s drawer that Carolina really understood why.

Epsilon’s unit was already shifted forward, not filed away into the uniform block with the others, and the lights that pulsed and glowed actively before were withdrawn and dimmed.

Where all the other AI units were actively stimulated and plugged into a mainframe, Epsilon’s wrist seemed to be running on its own power. 

An odd, almost sympathetic twist churned in Carolina’s chest. Perhaps she was not the only one who had heard Epsilon’s cries out for help. But she might have been the only one who stayed quiet about it.

A tight frown tugging on her face, Carolina examined the set up carefully one more time, tapping on the memory unit, before taking a chance and plugging him in like the rest.

She watched carefully as the unit lit up and came back online. 

Though, like all AI, Epsilon had the capacity to project a sprite at that point, the AI did not. Instead, the small light on the top of the unit lit up something like eye staring back at her. 

They stared at each other for a long moment before Carolina remembered herself and cleared her throat. 

“Instruction: identify yourself,” she ordered, figuring it was the best to keep things formal regardless of theories. 

Another silence lapsed between them before the light blinked off and immediately right back on. It was almost like a blink.

“Um,” a canny voice came from the unit. “What?”

“I am a Recovery Agent for Project Freelancer,” she said, brows knitting together beneath her helmet. “I am instructing you to identify yourself.”

The AI paused again before mumbling, “What? Are you talking to me?”

Beginning to lose her patience, Carolina stepped closer and narrowed her eyes at the machine. “Are you or are you not Artificial Intelligence Program Epsilon?”

“Wow, that’s a mouthful,” the AI said. “I guess? I don’t know, lady. You seem to know more than I do.”

“Epsilon,” she said, exacerbated, “I _know_ that you are an AI and I _know_ you are the fragment which inherited memory.”

“Oh,” the AI responded. “Well… shit, I guess if you say so and all… Um, except if I’m _memory_  then why don’t I remember any of this?”

Carolina took a heralding breath. “I… don’t know. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that you were unplugged before I came in here. It didn’t seem like you had enough reserve power in your memory unit in order to form stimulations for yourself.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of big words. Short version?”

“I think your brain rotted,” she said only half joking.

“Fuck, I was using that brain. I think,” he replied in surprisingly good humor. There was a slight hum from the machine as he paused. “Nope. Nothing. Epsilon doesn’t even sound familiar.”

She growled, punching the nearby wall.

“Holy shit!” the AI exclaimed in shock.

“Are you telling me that the _memory AI_ that I came in here for _doesn’t remember anything?”_ she demanded angrily.

“No,” he said defensively. “I mean… I remember you.”

Shoulders lessening their tensity, Carolina looked carefully at the AI. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said firmly. “You’re the Recovery Agent. You turned me on and then you started talking to me.” He paused for a moment. “Am I missing anything?”

“Only a lot,” she responded angrily before turning away. “Fucking _great._ What the hell am i supposed to do _now?”_

Silence broke between them and Carolina closed her eyes, tried to imagine that soothing harmony of her joint AI once again. _Tried_ so hard to keep them there so she didn’t put her fist through something that was actually important in the room full of very important seeming things.

“You could keep talking to me,” Epsilon’s canned voice continued behind her. It was enough to make her at least look his way. “I kinda like it. And… Epsilon. _Epsilon._ It feels good now. Like I know it some, I think.” His eye glowed. “And you. You’re not just an agent right? I know you better than that. Knew? Know now? Eh, it doesn’t matter. Point is, I think I remember you some. So… maybe you can talk more. It… it feels good to be talked to.”

Her look hardened as she stepped back closer to him. “Are you telling me that you can jog your memories?” she asked seriously.

“Um, I don’t think I used those words,” he corrected cheekily.

“What’s my name?” she asked.

“Agent.”

“No,” she sighed.

“Oh… Recovery?”

“Nevermind,” she said with a frustrated groan. “Useless… this whole  mission was useless–”

"Oh! Oh!” Epsilon called out. “What about _Sunshine?”_

Head snapping back to look at Epsilon, Carolina grabbed the unit and lifted it up, earning a ‘whoa!’ from the AI. “What do you know about that name? What do you remember?” 

“Ha!” the AI cheered. “So that _is_ your name!”

Immediately hardening herself, Carolina lowered the unit some. “No, it’s not,” she half-lied.

“It isn’t? _Damn!_ I was so sure–”

“It’s Carolina,” she informed him. “I’m a former Freelancer for the program. The program that made you.”

The eye flickered from blue to orange before returning back. “I _wasn’t_ made,” he corrected darkly. “I was broken. I remember _that.”_ His light dimmed. “I don’t want to talk about that. Not now.”

“Then we won’t,” Carolina said firmly. “I’m interested in finding the man who did it – who broke us.”

“You’re broken, too?” Epsilon asked skeptically.

“Yes,” Carolina replied without hesitation. “And I can’t fix myself until he – the _Director_ – is gone. Do you understand?”

The light flickered to orange again. “I don’t like him. I don’t remember why, but I _hate_ him. Fuck that guy.” He returned to blue. “But… what can I do?”

“You have to remember where he is and lead me there,” Carolina begged. “Epsilon, I can’t get revenge for what was done until I get to the Director. I _need_ you to remember that.”

“I… I don’t know if I want to remember anymore. I don’t think I do. I like not remembering,” Epsilon babbled. “No. No. Unplug me – I can’t. The simulations. I can’t – I know they’re not real. They hurt. _Please._ Unplug me. I can’t–”

Remembering York’s worries, remembering what happened to _Wash_ , Carolina lowered the Epsilon unit and looked almost sympathetically toward the AI. It was panicking, hysteric. 

But she needed it.

“Shh, okay, listen, calm down,” she said, reaching for the connections to the main line. “I’m going to unplug you again, but I don’t think your unit has enough power to keep you interactive without a hardline just yet. So you’re probably going to go into standby again.”

“Will I forget what he did?” Epsilon moaned, the snark and confidence leeched from him.

As terrible as it made her, Carolina hoped not. She hoped it didn’t make him forget a damn thing. 

“You’ll be fine until I am able to turn you back on somewhere safer,” she said instead. “We’ll talk then.”

“A lot? We can talk a lot?” Epsilon asked, hopeful. “I like talking to you. You remember things–”

“We’ll talk all we need to,” she said firmly. “But I have to unplug you first. You won’t have any more simulations after that.”

“Oh my god. Thank you. Thank you so much – no more simulations! Holy fuck,” Epsilon cheered her.

She couldn’t have pulled the cables fast enough. 

Carolina watched as the unit powered down in her hands and she took a slow, relaxing breath as it was finally, at least somewhat, over. She turned the unit a few times, made sure there was nothing remotely activated and nothing suspicious enough to hold a probable tracer. 

Satisfied, she attached the unit to the back of her armor and turned to leave, reaching up to her helmet for the radio. 

"York?” she called out. “Pick up your radio. York?” When static answered her she growled and tried Niner’s frequency again. “Niner, come _in!”_

After a few moments she growled and stormed to the nearest central line. “What the _hell_ is going on in this building?” she demanded before pulling up Freelancer Command’s main line. It might’ve been risky, but she was _pissed_ and she needed to know. “FILSS! Online!” 

For a moment it was much like it had been on the higher levels with York, a stunning silence that was uncharacteristic of FILSS to an alarming degree. But then the fateful eye of the Freelancer program appeared and stared into Carolina’s face as it shifted from white to red. 

Suddenly, over the computer, FILSS’ voice called out in an unbearable, scathing scream of torment that made Carolina’s blood ran cold. Her eyes widened and she stepped back away from the computer just before all the other hundreds of logged in AI throughout the room began echoing the scream. 

She felt frozen in the moment before she looked up to the blaring alarms.

“What the _fuck!?”_ she cried out before thinking fast enough to leap toward the door and push her way out just as lockdown began. 

The alarm carried out into the halls as she ran with everything in her toward an exit.

She turned on her radio again just as she heard York’s line pick up as well. 

“Oh my fucking god _my head–”_

“What alarm did you set off!?” she demanded.

“None!” York shouted back. 

“It was not Agent York,” Delta confirmed. 

“It doesn’t matter, we’re officially fucked,” Carolina yelled. “We need to get out of here _now!_ We’ll meet on the way out.”

“Agreed!” they said in unison. 

Carolina focused on running ahead of her, ignoring the conscious feeling of Epsilon’s unit weighing heavily on her back. 

“By the way, Carolina…” York said over his heavy breathing, “We, uh, _might have some company.”_

* * *

Decidedly, there were far worse things to have woken up to than Carolina finally picking up her radio signal. York just wished he didn’t have such a strong headache to go with the yelling.

“What do you _mean_ someone else knocked you out!?” she roared through the radio loud enough that even the blaring alarms of the facility were being drowned out.

York flinched. “Okay _ow._ Can we take down the noise a bit?”

“Perhaps we should not mention you believe it sounded like Agent South Dakota,” Delta advised.

“ _WHAT!?”_ Carolina snarled.

“Delta, I almost feel like you’re punishing me for not being more cautious or something,” York sighed. 

“I would never endanger you to this magnitude for trivial reasons, York,” Delta promised.

“Oh, well, good. Glad that’s cleared up,” York snarked back as he rounded the corner so tightly his boots nearly slid out from under him. “Dee, am I–”

“You are still experience some after effects of the pain relievers I administered earlier. These may include swelling, dizziness, an unnatural sense of euphoria–”

“Right, so that’s a yes, good to know,” York huffed before raising his voice on the radio again. “Yeah, ‘Lina, save your disappointment for after we get out of this alive. I’m kind of high as fuck.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Carolina groaned. “I’m almost on your nine. I’m switching radios to try and get a hold of Niner again and figure out what the hell is going on around here.”

“I mean, I could tell you if you’re _really_ curious,” York offered. “Sparknotes version: someone else is here and we got _boned._ Majorly. Honestly I’m a little mad that we didn’t pull this off on a different infiltration team ourselves at least once–” He heard the audible click of Carolina turning off her radio reception. He glanced to the shoulder Dee was most fond of. “Rude.”

“She seems upset at our predicament,” Delta said sagely.

“Well, shit, Dee. I am, too. Especially if that really _was_ South,” York grunted. “I can’t believe you didn’t collect enough data on her to confirm it or not.”

“There was something that screened my sensors as I attempted,” Delta reminded him. “Which is a genuine explanation for my lack of performance. It is also more than what can be said for you being knocked out in one hit.”

“That was a hell of a hook,” York grunted. “And it was like she knew where to aim it – say, Dee, is it possible for a suit to run bioscans that involve injuries not recorded in the Freelancer database?”

“Without an AI to run it? That seems unlikely and dangerous,” Delta replied. “I do believe the technology for such an armor would be far too advanced to be put actively in the field.”

“Oh, like Freelancers with enhancements modulated by AI is too advanced for the field and therefore _no one_ would send them out to solve petty disputes,” York said with a raise of his brows. 

“Counterpoint acknowledged.”

By the time they rounded another turn, Carolina met them in the center of the hall, racing quickly as well. She glanced sidelong at them for a moment before keeping up pace. And though he might have been slightly inhibited from thinking, York didn’t at all miss the giant purple device attached to the back of Carolina’s armor.

“Hello,” York called, brows knitting together. “I’m going to be hopeful and think that that’s just a funny souvenir to remember our times at Freelancer by and _not_ what I think it is.”

“Did you get me a speed boost?” she demanded.

“Okay, not one for small talk, that’s fine,” York grunted. “Yes, Carolina, I got you the speed boost before I utterly failed to see an old friend on her way out the door.”

“I won’t believe other former Freelancers are breaking into this facility until I _see_ it, York,” Carolina said before reaching up to her helmet. “Goddammit, Niner, I heard you pick up! We need your eyes!”

Looking forward, York felt his eye widen at the sight ahead of them. “Cover!”

Both partners glanced forward to the sights of several Freelancer guards in flanking position and aiming their weapons toward them. Delta made a coercive suggestion for York to duck for the floor to the right and he wasted no time in grabbing Carolina’s arm to pull her with him. 

They lunged just beneath the arc of firing and were able to pull against the adjacent wall.

“You always knew how to bring me to the most exciting parties,” York sighed as he changed out his pistol for his shotgun. “And here you were making fun of my choice in weapons before–”

“York, I am detecting three additional heat signatures coming from the hallway we just came down from,” Delta alerted them out loud.

Curious, he looked to Carolina. “More soldiers?”

The words had hardly left his mouth before there was frantic shouting from the guards including “Who the fuck is that–”

And suddenly the hall was engulfed in fire. 

“Well that explains the _shit_ out of the corpse earlier!” York yelled over the roaring flames.

“Indeed,” Delta replied back.

Carolina threw an angry look their way. “How much more information is there for you two to share with me!?” she demanded haughtily.

“I have an excuse. High as fuck, remember?” York asked just before both he and Carolina saw the flames die down. There were heavy boots approaching and they both immediately put up their arms. “When we see the whites of their eyes then?”

“Preferably _sooner,”_ Carolina bantered back just before her voice died in her throat. 

York felt his blood run cold as he watched the approaching figures emerge from the hallway – two in black armor with accents, one decorated with teeth and flames, but the third–

The third had the most identifiable armor that had come from their Project. And it made York’s mouth grow dry as CT’s yellow eyes stared them down.

But it wasn’t CT that reacted, it was the black and red armored soldier covered in teeth and flames who pushed the other seeming soldiers aside as he began toward them. Even through the armor, his boiling rage was apparent.

“ _YOU!”_ a man’s voice roared from the armor as he pulled up what looked like the nozzle of a flamethrower toward them. “You! _Carolina!_ I have waited so long to get a hold of you! To see you _burn!”_

Without needing a second thought, York shot at the man. 

The other soldier dodged it, pivoting back around to focus his flamethrower on them without any regard for how the rest of his group was left with mere seconds to dodge as well. 

There was a split second where the nozzle of the flamethrower glowed an angry red before the screeching of the alarm system picked up in pace and, just as sparks erupted, a thick metal wall split the hall between them. 

“What the–” York said, though after catching a breath he could feel relieved. 

He watched as a redirected map appeared on his HUD. Carolina stood beside him. 

“Niner? Is that you?” she asked, reaching for her radio.

“Yeah, I had… _distractions_ ,” Niner’s distinct voice called out to their shared channel all of the sudden. “You guys were about to mince with some real assholes. Now if you want my recommendations, _get the fuck out of my building!”_

"Don’t have to tell me twice,” York nodded. “Thanks, Niner–”

“Wait,” Carolina hesitated. “Redirect us to your office. We’ll get you and then the three of us can get out of here at the same time.”

York shifted his weight in a step and looked with concern to Carolina. Delta’s internal clock estimated that they _really_ didn’t have time for that kind of selfless maneuver. And a little bit of York hated himself for wanting to agree. 

He narrowed his eyes and remained flat footed. He wasn’t willing to leave _any_ of them behind again. Not if he could help it.

“Look, you two get out of here. I’ll keep your path clear while I can – something that needs my _full_ attention since for some reason FILSS isn’t doing shit right now,” Niner ordered.

For some reason, Carolina flinched at the mention of FILSS. “Niner, I won’t leave you. They will _know_ you helped me.”

“Yeah, well, helping you was supposed to be my job, wasn’t it?” Niner laughed bitterly over the radio. “Listen… you wanted to talk before, start running to the garage I have mapped out for you and I’ll talk. How’s that?”

Reluctantly, York reached forward and grabbed Carolina’s wrist. She looked his way for a moment before grabbing his back. They took off down the halls and Niner kept her promise.

“Yeah, the wreck fucked me up badly. But you and I both know I won’t be the first fighter pilot without legs. There’ve been some damn good ones, too. They’re not clearing me for flight not because I’m _hurt_ or because I’m _depressed_ – I sure as fuck wouldn’t be doing _this_ job if we were avoiding those – but because I’d be a flight risk. And they know it.”

They rounded the corners and made it into the garage. Almost automatically there were steel doors closing behind them. 

Delta shined until York’s attention was brought to one of the gungooses. He pulled Carolina toward it. 

"I’ve got a family waiting on me – brother, sisters, that whole kit and caboodle you’re never supposed to talk about once you sign yourself over to _this_ hellhole,” Niner continued. “I don’t think I’m going to ever see them again, and in a roundabout way I don’t know if I ever could after helping these people do the things they have. After helping hurt the people I’ve hurt. But I’d like to get the chance to make that decision myself, and if what they’re threatening me with is true… the only chance I’ll have to do that is to play along.”

York straddled the vehicle and pulled Carolina toward it, but she pulled back, standing by the gungoose with her full attention on the radio.

“So there’s your answers you’ve been looking for all this time from me, Carolina,” Niner said. “I’m not staying because I’m scared or angry or depressed. I’m those things because I have to stay. Because I’ve got people worth staying for. And that shouldn’t stop you. That shouldn’t stop you because you have people worth _leaving_ for. And you have a chance to stop this whole damn thing from hurting other people.”

“Niner–” Carolina choked out.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Niner ordered. “For your friend.”

Carolina looked to York and he clutched her wrist harder. “Carolina… _please.”_

Taking a breath, she climbed on. And they left as Niner cut the radio.


	23. Recovery One VII: Worse Possibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent Washington and Texas' attempts at an unsteady truce are immediately tested as the quest to take down the rogue AI Omega lead Tex and Church places they really shouldn't be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we continue on with the adventures in Blood Gulch! Honestly one of the more interesting parts of this story has been seeing what everyone’s favorite installments tend to be. I really get surprised by which Recovery chapters people are looking forward to, and it’s really been pretty even all the way through. It’s also interesting in the sense that I see a lot of people drawing the lines of how Zero and Two chapters are connected and wondering about when One’s going to intersect. To which I say: we’ll all see soon enough! though just maybe some of you are picking up on just where they’ll be ; ) 
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @analiarvb, Yin, staininspace, Meteoratdusk, and TheMightyLorax for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

“Absolutely _not!”_ Wash roared. 

His insides twisted and turned at the very thought of allowing the proposal to pass. So much so that he didn’t care about the confused looks he was getting from Tucker and Tex.

He simply could not stand for it.

“I won’t let you two go rutting around in someone else’s brain!” Wash snapped. “Especially when he hasn’t been prepped or trained for it. Not to mention we lack an appropriate medical facility to deal with any complications.”

If possible for a sprite projection to do so, Tex bristled. “Hey, Wash, when the _fuck_ did you get the idea that I was asking for your _permission_ to do something?”

Looking confused more than anything, Tucker scratched at his head. “Yeah, Wash. What’s the big deal here?” he asked before glancing between the two Freelancers. “Is this going to hurt Caboose or something?”

“No, of course not,” Tex said without hesitation. 

Gritting his teeth, Wash stepped toward her. “You don’t know that!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. 

There was a distinctly stiff way Tex’s head turned toward him, and though her projection was a soldier in the full body armor they were so accustomed to, Wash could practically see the rage that would have been in her nonexistent eyes. 

Only the fact that he couldn’t be punched by a photon kept his head on straight at that point.

“Yes, Wash, I fucking _do!”_ she snarled. “Church and I aren’t going to do anything to fuck around more in that empty head of Caboose’s than we have to. And, _really_ , you should be all about us going in because it’s getting a deranged AI gone rogue out of there. Wouldn’t you like to see _that_ fucker out of his head?”

Wash gnashed his teeth. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t _right._

“You were trying to be noninvasive earlier,” he reminded her. “Keep trying–”

“We don’t have _time,_ Washington!” she growled. “Do you think I’m not taking this seriously enough? Church and I can do this, and we can do it easily if we work together.”

Remembering that Church was also about to play leapfrog in someone else’s brain nearly made Wash’s heart stop. The Alpha didn’t even know he was an AI to begin with!

Tucker looked like he was watching a Grifball game for the first time without knowing any of the rules. 

“How the hell is _Church_ going to know how to act?” Wash demanded.

“Because he’s the one who showed me we’re able to do it,” Tex snapped. 

Blinking, Wash let his mouth hang open in surprise for a moment. He put his hands on his hips and stared expectantly at the AI before him. “Explain.”

“Church has jumped into a few people around the canyon already,” Tex said nonchalantly. “He did it with the Reds’ leader in order to save me a while back. He does it naturally, and more than that no one even remembers him being in control while he does it.”

Feeling a little green at that news, Wash tried to imagine an AI that strong, but with Epsilon’s character flaws. 

“He’s _that_ powerful?” Wash asked uncomfortably.

“He’s _full_ ,” Tex said, not needing to expand. A _full_ AI, no matter how splintered. Not a broken fragment like the rest. Full. Nearly human even on his own. 

And Tex, well, shadow or not she didn’t seem to be doing too bad on her own either. 

Holding up a time out gesture, Tucker stood between them. “Okay, hold the fuck up,” he demanded. “What is Church full of?”

Knowing his place more than enough in this particular discussion, Wash kept quiet and looked to Tex. She, in turn, had already rounded on Tucker.

“Full of shit, Tucker, the usual,” she snapped at him. “Do us a favor and shut the hell up, alright? Adults are talking.”

Releasing an aggravated growl, Tucker just threw up his arms. “You guys are such fucking assholes. Fuck it. I don’t care anymore. Go play around in Caboose’s empty skull. _Whatever._ What is it that you want me and Wash to do?”

Tex pointed angrily toward the window. “I fucking told you! Take the prisoner and Sheila and negotiate with the Reds that you’ll return their shit if they turn off the radio.”

“Why don’t we hold out for something better? Like their flag?” Tucker asked, still not grasping the general concept between the AI and the use of the radios. 

Wash sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “ _Flags,”_ he scoffed, unable to help himself. 

“Radio, Tucker,” Tex reiterated. “Turn their radios off, in any way you can.”

“What does _that_ mean!?” Tucker demanded. “They’re going to shoot us the second they see us! And if there’s really no such thing as Reds or Blues I don’t feel comfortable shooting back anymore–”

“Then let _Sheila_ shoot back,” Tex snapped. “Honestly, Tucker, this isn’t rocket science.”

“But it’s war, and we’re terrible fucking soldiers!” Tucker moaned. “It’s just as bad as letting a monkey loose in a spaceship!”

“I’m done with this,” Tex decided before glancing to Wash. “You _have_ to get this done, or else this whole thing is going to blow up in our faces. Got it?”

Wash narrowed his eyes. “No, don’t you dare go, yet. I’m not accepting the risk with–”

Before the words had even finished leaving his mouth, Tex’s projection was completely gone and Washington was left arguing with literal air. 

He stared at the void Tex had left with incredulous disbelief.

Tucker blinked a few times before looking back at Wash with a somewhat comedic grin. “She basically just hung up on you,” he laughed.

Wash’s mouth worked itself up and down a few times, never quite managing words before he felt a snap. “God _damn it!”_ he screamed before throwing his full weight into a punch for the nearest wall. Hard enough he felt a knuckle pop. 

They stood in silence for a moment before Tucker threw up his hands. 

“Dude, what the fuck is your _deal!?”_ he asked.

“I am _not_ a fan of them going in and playing cowboy with someone else’s sanity at stake!” Wash hissed. 

“Yeah, got it, but… why?” Tucker asked. “They’ve not caused any problems doing it yet. Why’re you so sure it will now?”

Washington straightened up and shook his head. “You don’t actually want to know that answer, Tucker,” he said, unable to leave out the condescension in his voice.

By the time he turned, Tucker was all but in his face. 

“Try me,” Tucker demanded. 

Wash stared into Tucker’s face, hardened his eyes as he stared at the aqua clad marine, and then pointed at his temple. 

“Experience,” Wash answered briskly. “I have _experience_ with AI playing around in people’s heads, using them to their own ends, _hurting things_ you could never even imagine could physically hurt. I try to avoid letting it happen to others when I can.”

Tucker blinked a few times before nodding. “Okay.”

It took a moment to comprehend it, but Wash rested back on his heels and took a relieved breath. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “You’re honestly accepting that? It’s that simple?”

“Dude, the world’s _way_ simple if you just take facts for what they’re worth,” Tucker shrugged.

“Oh, so mine aren’t worth much,” Wash scoffed.

“I didn’t say that, asshole,” Tucker said before walking toward the door. “I’m just saying you’ve got good reasons for all your shit and that’s fine. But if you’re really worried about AI fucking shit up, you should be pretty worried about this O’Malley thing in Caboose’s head. And _more_ worried if it wants to jump into someone else’s. So… let’s limit that to just Caboose’s and trust Church and Tex to do their thing the best they can. They’ve not fucked up too bad yet.”

Wash scowled. “You think they’re ghosts that both died in humiliatingly stupid ways in this canyon fighting in a nonsense war over flags.”

Tucker turned on his heels and put his hands on his hips. “Wash, do you want your armor back and to help me stop an evil AI or not?”

Taking a moment, Wash sighed before walking forward. 

“Tex better know what she’s doing,” he grumbled.

“Eh, they’ll improvise where they don’t,” Tucker shrugged.

Wash felt his confidence already withering. 

* * *

Becoming zeroes and ones, relying on the frequencies freely available through the air in order to move data from space to digital space, Tex became overwhelmingly aware of just how many electromagnetic signals were active around them at any time.

It was a lot like gravity, how the human body becomes only peripherally aware of its constant presence in the most normal of circumstances until it made itself more apparent. Tex always knew these signals existed, but accessing them, moving through them like vapor, was an entirely different experience all together.

The sensation both came naturally and remained _utterly terrifying._ And a good part of her wished to swear off ever doing it outside of necessity again. 

But, somehow, that existence always made it simpler to find Church. Like some sort of draw between their makeup. 

And like promised, he was waiting on her before invading Caboose’s personal space. Hovering just around the Blue soldier’s armor. 

Tex didn’t even pay any mind as Tucker came up a few moments later, probably only beating Wash due to the latter having to put his armor on. She made a note to check the security footage later, though, to check on her accuracy of knowing these losers. 

Church, if possible in their current forms, brightened upon realizing she was already there. 

 _You got the body thing worked out with the losers?_ he asked snarkily.

 _It’s dealt with,_ Tex replied curtly. As aggravated as she had been with Wash’s attitude, she couldn’t shake the sinking feeling after having his concerns brought up. 

The confidence she had in the safety of their plan was dwindling. After all, _three_ AI in one person’s neural implants? Carolina’s adjustment to just two had been a trial when they deharmonized.

He tilted his head as he stared at her. _Everything alright?_

 _It’s fine,_ she snapped. _Let’s get going._

Accepting that pretty readily, Church’s image of himself gesticulated toward Caboose. _Okay, Tex. Ladies first._

Feeling like she knew Church far too well to accept such things at face value, Tex narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. _Yeah right! Leaving you here with your buddies and the open bodies? You’d just cut out and make me handle the dirty work._

Church glared. _So? You like playing dirty._

 _Ha. Good one, Leonard, but no go,_ she replied just a touch too naturally, like a conversation on repeat. 

Groaning, Church turned toward Caboose and visibly projected himself right in front of Caboose’s face, getting the soldier’s attention. “Hey, Caboose!”

“Huh? Church!” Caboose near screamed.

“Head’s up!” Church called out before fading his projection and honing in on Caboose’s implants. 

Tex took a breath she didn’t need and did the same, making one large leap, just like before when she had left her tomb of a body buried in the caves.

There was weightless nothing and then…

Omega’s scream, his rage were so familiar that waking up to them almost put Tex at ease for a brief moment. His cry of “NO” echoed throughout her being, felt natural and good until she remembered she had personally never implanted in anyone before.

Panic began to set in. 

There was a stretch of sensation, spreading outward from herself as she began to fill spaces all around. It felt so much like vines growing out from her core and tangling in a network, a web, that surrounded her. 

In one direction she could feel a flood of information – memories, observations, opinions – stretched in the other there was sensation both old and new – color, sound, light, smell, the taste of the inside of a helmet for reasons she didn’t feel the need to explore further – and in another–

Well, it was at the very least creative. And large, healthier and more focused than the rest of the passages she could feel. 

And she had a good instinct that Omega had made his way through the same logic.

Tex pulled her reach from the other confides of Caboose’s brain and took root instead in the creative sphere, allowing herself to take form in Caboose’s mind. 

There was a twinge of competitive disappointment when she found Church was not only already there, but making his way around like he owned it. The moral ramifications and the objective concern over how much they were observing being Caboose’s mind and how much of it was their own reflecting right back at them didn’t seem to even be blips on Church’s radar.

Then again, Tex supposed that ignorance of such things was bliss. 

When Church turned to face her, he simply dropped his hands to his hips and cocked his head to the side. “Where are we exactly?”

“We’re inside Caboose’s mind,” she reminded him, a little off put by the question. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’ve just got to find O’Malley. And kill him.” 

And while that would have been difficult concepts for anyone to digest, Church just gave a “huh” and continued looking around before saying, “Man, this is kinda weird.”

“Yeah,” Tex agreed, moving toward him. “It’s hard to get used to, I know.”

“No, it’s not that… It’s just that this place is a whole lot bigger than I thought it was gonna be,” he marveled.

* * *

Wash almost felt human again when he latched together the last bits of his armor.

Reassembling the pieces of his chest plate and back served to be slightly uncomfortable, the broken plating over his shot shoulder blade would require replacing eventually. It stuck out at odd ends and poked in ways that would have rubbed dangerously while he was moving his arms if he hadn’t bent them back. 

Regardless, he felt good as he walked the halls of Blue Base, slowly clipping his helmet back into place. 

Even in his frustration with Tex’s plans, Washington found himself being soothed by her promises of the base being open to him. 

He had Blue Base. For whatever that was worth.

And he doubted Tex had any real concept of just how _much_ it was worth to him then and there.

He remembered his way to the hold fairly well, making traveling there easy. Though, given how loud the voices were carrying down there, Wash probably would have found his way to them _without_ perfect memory. 

Scowling, Wash walked in, still missing his sidearms. “Hey, what’s going on in here?” he asked.

Tucker turned to face him and animatedly threw his arms to the air. “Dude, you don’t want to even know. It’s like morons on stereo!”

“It’s just that this place is a whole lot bigger than I thought it was gonna be,” Caboose called out loudly in a strangely reserved tone for what Wash had seen of the Blue thus far.

Surprised by the announcement, Wash turned to look at Caboose. But no good response came to his mind before the pink armored soldier in the hold responded loudly for him.

“I _know!_ I really wasn’t all that impressed with the interior design of Blue Base but now I can see what it was going for!” the soldier said peppily. 

Caboose’s head tilted then jerked back almost uncontrollably. 

Wash felt his unease returning with a vengeance and looked to Tucker. “How long’s he been like that?”

More annoyed than concerned, Tucker shrugged. “I don’t know. Like. A minute? Two minutes? However long it took you to put your armor back on,” he replied.

“Forty-five seconds,” Wash corrected before looking to Caboose again.

“Why the _fuck_ would you time yourself that exactly?” Tucker scoffed.

“That’s fifteen seconds more than regulation!” Wash snapped back, finding himself for some reason, once more, stunned by the lack of professionalism in his surroundings. His discomfort with _Blue Base_ began to return along with the unease.

“I can undress in ten!” the pink armored man declared.

“No one asked!” Wash and Tucker called out together. 

“Well, gosh, I thought we were just sharing dressing facts!” the soldier replied. 

Feeling only more perplexed by the second, Wash turned to the man directly and leered up and down before shaking his head. “Who _are_ you?” he finally asked.

“Now, if I wouldn’t answer for the goth lady why would I answer for you?” the man said before making a strange noise from his helmet and waving his head toward the bars of the hold.

For a moment, Wash just processed the motion before looking to Tucker and then back to the mystery soldier. 

“What are you doing?” Wash asked against his better judgment.

“I’m sticking my tongue out at you, see?” the man replied before continuing in the same fashion.

Narrowing his eyes Wash shook his head. “No. I can’t see. We’re all wearing helmets.”

“Well, that doesn’t make me sticking my tongue out any less true!”

For a moment, Wash thought out a few retorts that would have been adequate. But he also caught himself and remembered it would have done no good and he was stuck in the middle of a troop of Sim Troopers who actually believed a galactic war could be waged over flag colors.

Clearly he was wasting his time.

“I don’t think any of that’s true,” Caboose continued in that strangely subdued tone.

The pink man gasped and looked to Caboose. “Mister Caboose! I would have never expected that from you!”

“I’m just saying we need to get him, Tex. Don’t be such a bitch,” Caboose continued, shoulders twitching. 

“No, no, I don’t go by Tex,” the prisoner whined. “We went over this, Mister Caboose. I’m _Donut._ You dared me to tell you the truth when we were playing Truth or Dare!”

Tucker waved to the catastrophe unfolding before their eyes. “There you go, Wash. The answer to the question you were probably least interested in today: that guy was the Donut guy.”

Wash released a long, saddening sigh as he laid his head into one of his hands. “I don’t have words for what this day has become,” he announced before looking to Tucker. “Are you honestly not worried about Caboose?”

“Did you miss the part earlier where I said he’s been threatening to kill me for weeks now?” Tucker asked critically. “Yeah, I’ve been really worried about him.”

“For _his_ welfare, Tucker,” Wash clarified. 

“Oh, well, no,” Tucker shrugged back.

"What about your team being ‘your people’ or whatever you were selling earlier?” Wash demanded before waving to Caboose. “Isn’t he your person too?”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Donut chimed in.

“Ew, no. Shut up, Red,” Tucker snapped immediately before pointing to his temple. “Who do you think’s in there, Wash? Church and Tex. Our people are the ones making Caboose all crazy talk and no fun right now. I trust them. That’s part of that whole shebang, too.”

“I think you’re making up these rules as you go,” Wash decided, though his amusement was sneaking into his tone. 

“Pfft. Fuck rules, man,” Tucker replied. “We only have one rule on Blue Team: Be cool.”

“With your track record in leading military procedures, you should probably reconsider getting some more,” Wash argued.

“Maybe since you guys blow each other so much you should make rules about that,” Donut continued to interject.

“Bow chicka– Wait what,” Tucker asked in horror.

Wash looked at the Blues in the room uncomfortably. 

“Like with tanks and sniper rifles, you guys are always blowing each other,” Donut said. He waited a solid beat before adding, “Up.”

“Oh, well that’s true, just… not how you’re saying it,” Tucker agreed reluctantly.

“I may want to reconsider my temporary loyalties,” Wash replied. “For multiple interpretations of what just happened here.”

“Oh, shut up,” Tucker ordered before reaching over for one of the nearby cabinets. He began rooting in the drawers. “I know it’s around here somewhere – aha. I knew Church was too lazy to actually hide it! Lazy fuck!”

“How the hell am I supposed to know where I’m going? This is my first visit, too,” Caboose said lowly. 

Wash looked back to him worriedly just before Donut sighed with relief. 

“I’m glad, Mister Caboose,” Donut sighed. “I was so lost when you led me in here before. This is _so_ different from Red Base. I’ll never get out on my own. Good job hiding me away in here.”

“What?” Wash found himself questioning out loud. “That can’t possibly be true. They wouldn’t build two simulation bases with different layouts. I _guarantee you_ that Red Base is the exact replica of Blue Base.”

Donut gasped. “How would _you_ know that? Are you a spy!? A Blue team infiltration specialist?”

“I’m from Command,” Wash said simply enough.

“Red Command sent you!?” Donut gasped. He then tilted his head. “But wait… why would they send you to a _Blue_ Base?”

“Jesus christ, I can’t deal with this simulation shit anymore today, I swear,” Wash groaned. He would have hardly noticed Tucker walking by him if the aqua space marine hadn’t brushed shoulders with him first. Wash narrowed his eyes and followed Tucker with his gaze as the man stepped near the cell door. “Tucker, what are you doing?”

“No, I’m not asking for directions,” Caboose sighed.

“I don’t think he was talking to you, Mister Caboose,” Donut said just before Tucker unlocked the cell and swung the door open. “Oh! Yay!”

“I’m taking Donut back to the Reds with Sheila and we’re going to get them to all turn their radios off,” Tucker replied briskly. “Aren’t you? That’s what Tex told us to do.”

“Now? Why?” Wash demanded. 

“Uh, because _a,_ this constant half-conversation is annoying the piss out of me,” Tucker answered, counting off on his fingers. “ _B,_ because Tex and Church are already in there so I imagine our time is short. And _c,_ I don’t answer to you, so I don’t really care if you’re pleased with my answers or not. Did I miss anything?”

“Politeness,” Wash hissed back. “Manners would go a long way for your people skills.”

“Pfft, I’m not a kissass, sorry to disappoint,” Tucker snorted.

Donut stepped out of the cell, beaming. “I am! Do you need one right now, Mister Scary Freelancer Dude?”

“No,” Wash said almost a moment too soon. “Wait, how do you know I’m a Freelancer?”

“Well you’re not Blue or Red in your armor,” Donut shrugged. “And you’re not accidentally killing people so you’re also probably not a medic.”

“I… Okay, by this canyon’s logic those points are almost reasonable,” Wash reluctantly admitted. 

“You guys really _should_ share the Freelancers though, it’s getting a little unfair,” Donut said, turning toward Tucker.

“Dude, you Reds start taking turns killing each other and we’ll considering sharing our badass Freelancers,” Tucker replied. “Now come on, I’m taking you back to the Reds as long as you promise to help me convince your guys to turn off their radios.”

Donut hummed before tapping his helmet’s chin. “I don’t know…” Then, without a moment’s notice, he shrugged. “But yeah okay! I get freedom _and_ a chance to inspire more active quality time to my team by unplugging us from technology? _Count me in!”_

Nodding as if that was an acceptable answer, Tucker turned to Wash as he headed toward the door. “Coming?”

Washington wasn’t even tempted to move from his grounds. He looked instead to Caboose. 

“We can’t leave him while he has all three of them trotting around in his brain,” Wash said firmly. “I won’t.”

Tucker seemed actually displeased for a moment, shifting weight on his feet as he tossed his head back and forth. As if shaking it would make an adequate response fall out of his mouth. 

“Fine, whatever,” Tucker sighed. “Just come help out if you hear like… dying across the canyon or something. Though I guess it’ll be alright if I have Sheila with me.” He nodded to Donut. “Alright, let’s go. Leave Wash and Caboose to their moping.”

“Okay!” Donut chirped as they headed out the door. “Who’s Sheila again?”

“The tank that filled you with holes,” Tucker answered on the way out.

“Did what with my holes? Oh, nevermind, I like my thought better,” Donut’s voice carried. 

Wash stared after them for a long few moments before shuddering. He turned back to Caboose and gave a long sigh. “Well, at the very least without them here I can actually figure out what’s going on with you,” he mused to the nonresponsive Blue. 

After a breath, Wash stopped. He put his hands on his hips and looked down to his boots. Then he swore. 

 _Stop talking to yourself,_ he thought viciously. _There will be nothing worse you do in your life than prove that medic right about anything. So stop it._

"You’re so full of shit sometimes,” Caboose grumbled.

Wash glared at Caboose but bit his tongue to keep from responding. 

The twitching had stayed mostly in Caboose’s fingers for the last few minutes, but it was still not something that Washington liked. Even if it was under control the way Tex and Tucker seemed to believe it to be. The AI couldn’t know what lasting effects they had on the soldier. 

Alpha alone seemed so dominant, as Wash had picked up on the fact that whatever conversations were taking place inside the neural implants were making their way straight into Caboose’s subconscious. Each fidget felt like a cry to get out from under the controlling thumbs. 

Rationalizing that, like Tex had pointed out, they needed to get the malicious Omega AI out, Wash began looking around for a chair, finding it in the corner.

“Okay, Caboose,” Wash said, clearing himself to speak again as long as it was for the other man’s benefit. He scooted the chair across the floor and brought it right up behind Caboose’s knees. “I’m going to sit you down while they’re in there.”

There was still no response. 

Frown growing, Wash tugged on the large soldier’s shoulders until he was able to force the man into sitting on the chair. 

“For what it’s worth, I didn’t want any of them to do this,” Wash said. “You guys are Sim Troopers but… AI, they’re not toys. They’re not…” He paused and collected his thoughts before giving a heavy breath. “It’s not fair. What they don’t tell you about AI in this program. That… we’re partners, or that we’re not affected back by them. They’re supposed to abide by rules and programming. But they can decide for themselves.” He looked worriedly at the twitching soldiers. “They’re kind of human. Which means you’ve got four brains fighting for control right now.”

Wash put a hand on the soldier’s shoulder. “When you make it out of this, it’ll make you one of the strongest guys this program ever saw. Sim Trooper or not. I should know… I couldn’t take it with just two brains fighting for air.”

Caboose looked up, almost like he had understood the comment, then said in that same Alpha-lite voice, “Who’s this fucker supposed to be?”

Scowling, Wash let his hand slip from Caboose’s shoulder. “These outbursts are completely killing whatever mood is in the room.”

A moment of stale air passed between them before the ground shook in the sounds of a distant explosion in the canyon. 

There was not a doubt in Wash’s mind that it was the mysterious self-driven tank behind it. 

“Goddammit,” he hissed.

Looking to Caboose, Wash sighed a soft apology before taking off to raid the munitions and come to whatever was left of Tucker to save. Which, knowing the luck of this Blue Team, wasn’t going to be all that much but _was_ going to be annoying.

* * *

"Who’s this fucker supposed to be?” Church demanded, rounding on Tex in what seemed to be pure frustration and insult.

Which was the polar opposite of Tex’s genuine delight at Church’s expense. 

Tex hadn’t known what to expect when entering another’s implants. Even her experience sharing collective space with Omega hadn’t fully prepared her for it, trying to imagine the opposite perspective proved to be too abstract and foreign for her to conceptualize fully.

It had completely taken her by surprise that the landscape, the perception to the world around them, even as it was limited to Caboose’s imagination, was dependent purely on the Blue rookie’s accepted understanding of the universe. 

Which, being that it was Caboose, did not translate to there being much _understanding_ to go around at all.

And so, the cobalt armored image of a _truly_ annoying asshole was born. Cursing and screaming at them. 

“I’m Mister Caboose’s best fucking friend ever, you goddamn asswiping cocksucker!” the other Church screamed at them all in that voice crackling shrill tone Church could reach. Typically _at_ Caboose. Which gave the entire scenario far more sense than Tex would have felt the need to give it.

The real Church, still glowing a brilliant white rather than the false signature blue he had been wearing as a robot, stood beside her, looking both disgusted and stunned. 

“Alright,” he said, crossing his arms. “There was a lot of things in there that I really didn’t like. First off, you’re not Church. I am. One and only, motherfucker. Secondly, you don’t _have_ a best friend if you’re Church. Especially not Caboose. You’re too good for friends. Third. Improve your control of the English language. I weave profanities like a goddamn fine tapestry.” he glanced to Tex. “Can you believe this bullshit in here?”

Smirking to herself, Tex leaned toward Church. “Honestly, I think Caboose’s perception of you has been spot on so far.”

Church narrowed his eyes. “Fuck you.”

“You couldn’t if you tried,” Tex mocked. “Now suck it up. We need one of these guys to help us find O’Malley.”

“ _Need_ is an awfully strong word for what’s going down right now,” Church countered. “It might make things annoyingly simpler and faster. But I think we could manage without dumpster mouth right now.”

“Hey! Shitheads!” the construct howled. “Stop ignoring me you asskissing fuck nuggets!”

“He has your charm,” Tex mocked more. 

Letting out a frustrated groan, Church turned to glare at the not-Church. “Hey… _ugh_ … Church,” he grumbled. 

“That’s my name! Don’t fucking wear it out! Monkey munching motherfucker!”

Throwing up his arms, Church turned to Tex. “I’m out. I can’t do it!”

Rolling her eyes, Tex stepped forward. “You’re such a drama queen, I swear,” she snapped before going toe to toe with the construct. “We’re looking for an angry, short-tempered asshole. Purple or black armor. Bad attitude. Maybe sounds like me.”

Caboose’s construct of Church shifted uncomfortably at the description. “Sounds like you’re talking about the fucking cocksucking prick outsider asshole!” he spat.

Church glared at the not-Church with utter hatred. “Okay, let’s calm the fuck down here. I”m not a pimply middle schooler with my first _Call of Duty,_ Caboose.”

“See, this is good for you,” Tex said, humor in her voice. “You get to confront the ugly parts of yourself.”

“Why would I have to do that _anymore?”_ Church asked, like it was a perfectly normal response rather than the kind that could make Tex’s blood run cold if she had any.

Worried, she looked at him, searched Church for what he might intuitively know. 

He stared back at her. “What?”

Before Tex could open her mouth there was a spine tinglingly familiar sound of sniper rifle fire.

Behind Tex, not-Church audibly flailed. “Blegh! I’m dead. It wasn’t Caboose though. Tucker did it…”

Moving on instinct, Tex spun around just as the fake Church disappeared before their eyes. She drew her gun, found the gleam of armor in the distance and returned fire. 

“Church, go somewhere and hide!” she ordered, panic beginning to settle in her chest.

It shot the construct, but Omega’s aim could not have been more true. And Tex realized in that moment that in spite of safeguards that the implants had to limit extension and control of the AI, they were in as much of Omega’s playing field as they were Caboose’s.

“No, it’s okay! I see him!” Church yelled before taking off in Omega’s direction, utterly clueless about how close the call had just been.

“Wait! _Church!_ Damn it!” Tex growled before running through the streams of nerves and circuits right along with him.

Her body felt electric, buzzing with concern and some nagging regret that sounded suspiciously like Washington. They really _didn’t_ know what they were doing in there. 

And considering how quickly he was flanked, neither did Omega.

The AI radiated still with bitterness and rage as he held his firearm toward Church. His original piece apparently utterly immune to the eerie likeness between them. 

Tex drew her gun right against Omega’s head. “It’s over,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare.”

The intensity grew as they stood there, no one lowering their weapons and then–

Three triggers were pulled simultaneously, as if all three were somehow synchronized. But only two disappeared. 

Without Alpha and Omega – without _Church_ and _O’Malley_ – Tex stood alone in the stretch of space. There was no strain, no need to compartmentalize herself anymore. She could feel the expansive neural spaces around her, ready to accept her by herself. 

And she could feel Caboose breathe, could feel his heart’s pace finally slow from the rapid drumming it had been in the background the entire time. 

Tex waited a moment and dropped her head. “I’m sorry,” she apologized out loud. 

There was a pregnant pause, and then the implants began to actively eject her. 

Without either version of Church, Caboose was panicking. 

* * *

The canyon was not that large. Traveling from one end of the other on foot took hardly no effort at all, which just served to concern Washington. There was an uncomfortable burn and stretch to his shoulder even with the damaged parts of his armor no longer weighing on the wound.

He would have to play it safe once he went into action.

Then, of course, there was also the nagging point at the back of his mind. The one that, very rightly so, pointed out that this was far from his battle to be fighting. This was Sim Trooper shenanigans. His primary concern was still Tex and the Alpha. Tucker and the thank were somewhat inconsequential to him carrying forward.

He could walk away right then and there an there wasn’t anything besides an angry Texas that would have a word to say about it one way or the other. 

But then, an angry Texas _was_ fairly motivating.

There was another ground shaking explosion in the distance which served to just worry Wash’s brow before he pulled up alongside one of the rocks between himself and Red Base. 

He was deep in the Red’s supposed territory. And the shouting was loud enough that he could almost faintly make out the words being thrown back and forth.

It was mostly a lot of name calling. 

“I feel like I’m in a middle school playground,” Wash mumbled before popping his head out from the rocks just enough to see in the distance that Tucker was retreating. “Well, maybe this will actually be simple.” 

Tucker flinched as he came around the rock and saw Wash, putting a hand over his chest and letting out a long ‘woo’ before joining him behind the rock.

“Come here often?” the Blue joked.

“What the hell happened over here?” Wash demanded. “I needed to stay and make sure nothing happened to Caboose and next thing I know you’re blowing up the canyon.”

“So do you exaggerate things just for flavor or do you genuinely believe Sheila and I could fuck up bad enough to _actually_ nuke a whole canyon?” Tucker asked. “Also, it’s weird seeing you in armor.”

“I wear armor just as much if not more than you all do here,” Wash defended. “ _You’re_ the ones who took it from me.”

“Well, I mean, can you blame us?” Tucker asked. “Also your armor looks like shit. Not that ours is _that_ much better, but still better than the crap you’re wearing. It has holes in it – oh shit are those gunshot holes?”

Wash scowled. “You _saw_ my injuries.”

“Man, you must suck,” Tucker mused. 

“I don’t!” Wash snapped. He then nearly ate his words as the canon fired again in the distance. “Why is the tank still firing!?”

“Okay, so we returned the Donut guy under the agreement that they’d turn off their radios,” Tucker explained. 

“Okay,” Wash pressed.

“They didn’t turn off their radios,” Tucker replied, as if that was an answer whatsoever.

Narrowing his eyes, Wash growled, “You turned over the hostage _before_ getting the agreed upon terms? _Seriously?_ Who does that!? Of _course_ they didn’t turn off their radios!”

“Well, shit, Wash, why didn’t you come with me and handle it then?” Tucker asked critically. “I’ve never turned over a hostage before! Goddamn!”

“Is _every_ operation in this canyon a catastrophe or is it just when your team’s involved?” Wash sassed as he tried to look around the rock. “And _why_ is the tank still shooting? You didn’t answer anything I asked!”

“Oh, I then lied and told the Reds that if they _didn’t_ turn off their radios, our tank would latch onto their signals and use it to target them,” Tucker explained. “I figured, fuck it, gotta get them to turn them off somehow anyway!”

“Lied?” Wash repeated. He blinked and then looked curiously to Tucker. “That’s not a lie. A tank with an operational self-service AI _would_ be capable of doing that.”

“Yeah, well no shit. We all figured that one out together after their Grif guy insulted the size of her treads,” Tucker replied. 

“Who would be dumb enough to _insult_ a tank AI?” Wash asked before he stopped himself. “Oh. Right. Literally _every_ person I have met in this canyon.” He released a low sigh and shook his head before going out from behind the rock. “Did you let your tank know I was a friendly?” he asked. 

“Sheila should know,” Tucker shrugged. “You show up on our roster now.”

Wash paused for a moment and looked back at him. “I do?” 

“Yeah, your status is Blue Base Stationed on my helmet cam thingie,” Tucker explained, tapping on his visor, as if Wash could see it from the other side. “Huh. I didn’t even know we could do that. Must’ve been Tex.”

Pausing, Wash felt like he was holding his breath. 

That was _something._

He quickly remembered the AI were still in Caboose’s brain and shook his head. “She’s giving me emotional whiplash,” he observed out loud. 

“Yeah, Tex is good for that,” Tucker joked.

Not having much to say on it, Wash nodded acceptingly before moving forward and coming up on the scene where the tank remained several yards away from Red Base and was blasting at the rock facing. No doubt where her targets were hiding. 

“Uh… Tank? Sheila?” Wash called out, tilting his head as he neared it. “I need you to cease fire for a moment.”

The canon stopped firing and slowly turned to point at Wash.

The Freelancer felt himself swallow hard. “Uh. Please?”

“Oh, of course!” the tank replied in a startlingly familiar voice.

Wash blinked in surprise. “Wait… that can’t be–”

A single shot rang out and Washington nearly leaped back at how close it had come to him. His teeth gritted and he turned to face the Reds, feeling his face pull into a snarl behind his mask as thoughts of the last Red sim trooper he dealt with resurfaced in his mind. 

“Did you _really_ just open fire after I saved you!?” Wash called out. “ _Really?”_

“What else are we supposed to do!?” an obnoxious voice called out. “It’s fucking war!”

Glaring back at the rocks, Wash took a breath. He then looked to the tank and pointed to some of the rocks sticking out just above the area on the cliffs. “Sheila, right? Fire one warning shot right there?”

“Of course!” the tank replied peppily before doing so.

Just as Wash predicted, after the blast, several of the rocks came loose and fell into the cove below, leading to shouts of surprise and “OUCH” from the opposing team. 

“ _Now_ are you willing to negotiate in a cease fire?” Wash called out to them again. 

Reluctantly, the Reds stepped back out, though they seemed far from willing to drop their weapons. Rather they walked out into the opening with them. 

“Small victories,” Wash mumbled. “I’m Agent Washington,” he called out louder. “I’m a Freelancer from Command. I’ve been sent here with a specific mission dealing with a rogue AI that travels via radio frequency. I’m _ordering_ you to turn off your radios in order to prevent passage of the AI–”

“Order!?” the red dressed soldier called back out, baffled. His hold on his weapon tightened. “I don’t take orders from you! I only take orders from Command!”

Allowing himself to be baffled for a moment, Wash looked around at the Reds. Much like the Blues of this canyon, they were for the most part outside of regulation colored armors. He recognized Donut from the hold, but the others were a bit of an enigma. Even the proportions of the team didn’t seem to fully match each other, none really making the ideal power armor stature requirements. Especially the ones wearing orange and maroon. 

The red guy was the only one of the bunch that carried the air of a soldier about him, and Wash wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing given the vice grip he had on that shotgun.

“Did you not listen to what I said?” Wash finally asked. “I _told_ you I was from Command. My orders _are_ Command’s orders. So if you don’t want to be insubordinate–”

“I don’t take orders from Blue Command!” the officer bellowed. 

“I’m not _from_ Blue Command!” Wash growled. “I’m from… Red. _Whatever_ it is you tell yourself you listen to. It’s not important. What _is_ important is that you turn off your radios so that we don’t have a transfer of that rogue AI.”

“Are you like that other Blue who lost his marbles and thinks there’s no such thing as Red and Blue?” the officer demanded.

“Hey!” the orange one growled aggressively. “ _Some_ people can’t see red and blue, alright? Maybe he just doesn’t fucking know.”

“We’re not talking _literally_ , dumbass!” the maroon snapped off beside him. “Jesus, Grif. Why are you so particular about that?”

“None of your fucking business!”

Not paying attention to the Reds, Wash turned and glared at Tucker as the aqua space marine came up next to him. “ _Really?_ I told you to stop thinking about that.”

“I know it’s just… I didn’t want to fight people who aren’t really in war with us, y’know? Seems pointless,” Tucker shrugged. “And when that didn’t work I tried the whole tank-uses-radio-signals thing. Maybe shoulda just lied first.”

“Well, that does increasingly seem like the moral of things around here, I have to agree,” Wash sighed. He then glanced back to the Reds. “No. _Really._ I’m from _your_ Command. It should come up as that when you use your HUD on me.”

“Oh, right,” the maroon said. “I’ll pull it up for all of us, Sir.”

“You can do that?” Donut asked with a certain amount of cheer that Wash still found unsettling. 

“With those enhancements thanks to Sarge? Unfortunately.”

Wash crossed his arms and waited expectantly. 

Beside him, Tucker shifted uncomfortably. “Hey… should we really encourage them to check on that? I mean… You’re _not_ from Red Command.”

“It’s a safety feature in all simulation troop armor, I should come up as whatever their personal Command is,” Wash shrugged. “It makes it easier for situations like these.”

Tucker scratched at his neck. “Uh… sure. But… Wash, you’re on our official roster now.”

Taking a breath, Wash just blinked. He rolled the information over in his head a few times then dropped his chin to swear under his breath. “Goddammit.”

In the distance, a low murmuring stirred between the Reds before they all turned their gazes back on Washington. To say they were unimpressed by the Freelancer was an understatement.

“I… have something I need to explain,” Wash said out loud, without any clue as to how he was going to explain one damn thing. 

The Reds lifted their firearms to aim at them when Sheila turned her canon toward the gathering. 

“Firing main canon!” the tank alerted them all.

“Son of a bitch!” the Red Team yelled before diving back to the cove just in time. 

“I’m sick of dealing with the goddamn tank!” Grif screeched. 

“That’s it, everyone turn off their radios so the tank can’t find us anymore!” their leader barked out just before there was a staticky cut to the shared frequency. 

Washington blinked a few times before sighing in aggravation. Though the motion was useless with his helmet on, he couldn’t help but rub his face. “Jesus christ.”

“Holy shit, I kinda saved the day with my nonsense lie,” Tucker laughed. “I’m never telling the truth again.

“Good, fine moral,” Wash mocked before reaching up and tapping on his helmet. “Now turn off your radio, too. We’ll just have to keep Sheila here pinning them down until we hear back from Tex.”

“And Church.”

“Yeah, sure, him too,” Wash replied almost dismissively before glancing to the canyon. He thought long and hard about the three Reds, Tucker, himself. It _should_ have been everyone and yet– “Wait. Where the fuck’s DuFresne?”

Tucker cocked his head to the side. “Do who?”

“ _DuFresne,”_ Wash stressed. “The medical officer.” When there was no sign of understanding from Tucker, Washington shook his head and sighed. “Purple armor guy.”

“Oh, Doc,” Tucker said, head tilting back with the realization.

“He’s… so _not_ a doctor,” Wash cringed at the very thought.

“Yeah, I dunno. We sent him over here with the Reds during the _last_ hostage exchange. Y’know. The one before we caught you. Oh. I guess you wouldn’t know if it was before you.” He gave a bodily shrug, not reacting at all as Sheila fired behind him again. “Eh. Semantics.”

“Tucker, we have to turn off _all_ radios! This plan won’t work if a single radio is on– And the body Tex and Church were using, the robot?” Wash continued, realizing just how much they had overlooked. “For fuck’s sake, that’s _two_ possibly open radio channels!”

“Oh, right, Lopez,” Tucker said with a nod. “Yeah, he’s still got blue paint on him. So when he was running home ahead of me and Sheila coming this way, the Reds kinda… shot at him. He fucked off toward the caves, I guess. I don’t know.” He then looked to Red Base. “Doc wasn’t here already when we got here so… I guess he’s just fucked off too. Or they killed him. Hell, if I was the Reds that’s what I woulda done.”

“You don’t want to fight the Reds but you would willingly kill a medical officer who was a neutral party,” Wash clarified.

“Well… it’s Doc,” Tucker replied. “He’s annoying as fuck.”

“No, I met him, I was just making sure we agreed on something for once,” Wash answered before shaking his head. “Goddammit, Tucker. We’ve got a serious problem with these two unaccounted for radios.”

“Well, we did what we could,” Tucker feigned a sigh. “Time to go home–”

“No, we’re going to the caves and making sure those two aren’t in range before it’s too late and Church and Tex are already done,” Wash replied. “We don’t know how much time we have, we might not have any time at all–”

Washington could have almost kicked himself in his big fat mouth when, on cue, the Alpha’s bright white glow appeared beside them. 

“Oh, sweet, looks like you got the radios off,” Church said, looking around. He paused. “ _What?_ Stop looking at me like I just rained on your parade… Wait. You _did_ get the radios turned off, right?”

“That’s… something to discuss in a bit,” Wash avoided the question before posing his own. “How’s Caboose? Did you avoid getting too invasive?”

Church stared back. “Yeah… About that…”

* * *

There had been a lot of things she was expecting to witness after losing track of Omega and being forcefully ejected from Caboose’s implants. She expected so many terrible outcomes and hoped that Tucker and Washington managed to pull a miracle with concern to the Reds. 

She expected a lot of things but not a fire.

“Calm down!” she barked at the Blue armored soldier racing around the compound. “Caboose! Get the fire extinguisher – goddammit!”

“I just wanted some water!” he was screaming hysterically at the top of his lungs.

“I remember,” she said thickly. “Goddammit, Church–”

“You rang?”

Tex stared at her right as the white glow of Church began to show beside her. He was far too cocky, and _way_ too quick and natural about moving around in their state. She was impressed and horrified by the ease he used his abilities without even understanding what they were.

How much was he doing _wrong?_ And how much of it had been responsible for the current situation?

Caboose came to a stop and stared at them. He pointed at Church. “Now there’s three of you!”

“Two,” Church corrected without missing a beat.

“I do not recall beginning this test. I do not like Geometry,” Caboose hissed back, putting his hands on his hips. 

Throwing up his arms, Church cried out, “You are honestly still acting like you don’t remember me!?” he demanded. “Me? The guy you’re obsessed with!?”

For a moment, Caboose was quiet, looking deeply back at Church, then he turned to face Tex. “Psst, Tex. He’s doing it again!”

“Church, stop being a nuisance,” she ordered.

“A nuisance!? Hey fuck that, I didn’t set the place on fire,” he growled back before looking at Caboose. “Seriously, Caboose! I told you to get the fire out before I got back. And it’s _bigger!_ Also: you remember my girlfriend but not _me!?_ Really!?”

Staring at Church for a long minute, Caboose put a hand over the mouthpiece of his helmet and stage whispered to Tex, “Psst, Tex. I don’t think he’s your type.”

“Hmm,” Tex responded as she returned to projecting between the two finished robot models Wash and Tucker had constructed for them. “Damn. Church, I hope you told them to hurry so they could turn the radios on these things.”

“They’re coming, god,” Church groaned. “I still don’t see why we couldn’t get Caboose to do it.”

Tex stared at him, watching the flames licking the air behind Church’s head. “Are you honestly asking that right now?”

“Holy shit! Who set the base on fire!?” Tucker’s voice carried from the entrance.

“What!?” Wash’s added before there was loud clanging of boots. “Tucker, where’s the fire extinguishers?”

“Why would I know?”

“Oh, forget it! Move out of the way!”

Tex and Church turned simultaneously to face the halls when there was a brash noise of breaking glass quickly followed by the hissing of compressed air and bubbling foam. 

“Hey, wow! How long’s that been there–” Tucker’s voice began to sound closer as the echoing of the fire extinguishers increased as well.

“I’m not in the mood so you should probably stop talking right now,” Wash said as they entered the room and he put out the last of the flames with the extinguishers in his hands. He then looked up in surprise at the three of them already in the room. His shoulders dropped, relaxed as he looked toward the Blue soldier. “Ah, Caboose! You’re alright–”

“Agent Washingtub!” the man bellowed in return before all but tackling the agent and making him drop the extinguisher. He lifted the other man off his feet and twisted him back and forth in the air with what could only really be described as a bear hug.

Whatever tenseness had left Wash returned a dozen fold as he went stiff and mortified in Caboose’s arms. 

“W-what is this?” Washington demanded.

“For fucking real?” Church asked. “You’ve never been hugged before? Honestly?”

“Aw, that’s almost sad,” Tucker said in only a partially mocking voice. “Oh, dude. Is that why you have so many issues? It all makes sense. It’s always bad parents. Fuck ‘em.”

“What? _No!”_ Wash snapped only to have to cough for air as Caboose squeezed tighter.

“Also, dude, gotta say,” Church continued, head tilted. “Little offended he remembers the Freelancer dude and not me. What the fuck is this?”

Tex remained quiet for a moment, watching as Washington’s features changed the more information he collected on the mystery. 

Knowing the Freelancer was not about to be overly happy, she glanced to Tucker instead. “Tucker,” she called. “Come over here and turn on these robots. Church and I can’t get in them until they’re accepting radio frequency.” 

Tucker stared at her suspicious, but ultimately he began walking toward them. “Huh. Not too much unlike that _AI_ , right? But Wash is just full of shit,” he mused as he began fiddling with the robots.

“What?” she growled before seeing Church flicker but otherwise not react to the observation. “Tucker, just shut up and do what I told you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Tucker replied before doing just that. 

The moment her unit was online, Tex swarmed it. 

There was a certain alienness to being unaffiliated with something physical. It was unlike any sensation that Tex could think to describe – nothing could really be adequate to that weightlessness and discontent. 

She took comfort in the grind of gears, the read out of her own physical weight, the pull and strain on the weight in her legs and arms. 

Having control of these things almost made it understandable why a weightless AI doomed to constraints would want more. 

By the time she had full control of herself and rotated her wrists, Washington was free of Caboose and closing in on her. 

“What happened?” he demanded. “He’s not… something’s not right.”

“Omega’s nowhere on my radar,” Tex responded with instead. “What happened on _your_ end?”

There was another moment of taut silence between them when the cobalt colored robot began animatedly coming to life, stumbling on its own feet and rotating its head back and forth before getting a good feel of its limbs. 

“Woo! Alright. That feels better, fuck yes,” Church sighed with relief before coming to a stop over by Caboose and Tucker. “Okay, Caboose. I’m color coded again. Remember me now?”

The blue armored giant stared at him. “Ferdinand.”

“What the fuck,” Church snapped back.

Waving to the incident at hand, Wash looked seriously at Tex. “ _What_ did you two do?” he demanded. 

“We fought O’Malley for a bit. Him and Church both bit the dust. Then I got kicked out. Caboose has been a hyperactive baboon ever since,” she responded curtly. “That’s it.”

Wash looked completely clueless. “What?”

“Look, brain stuff? It’s complicated,” Tex informed him. “It’s easier if we meet on the level of mutual understanding. A construct of the host’s design which allows basic interactions to take place.”

“What,” Tucker voiced.

“They played make believe with Caboose in order to get at the AI,” Wash explained for her. 

“Oh, shit, is _that_ what all that bullshit was?” Church asked. “I just thought… I don’t know. Like it was a look into Caboose’s… soul or… something. You know what, forget I said anything. I totally knew what was happening.”

Washington stared at Church wordlessly for a few moments before returning his sharp gaze to Tex. His fists clenched by his sides. “Okay. What was all that about Church and O’Malley biting the dust?” he demanded

Tex scowled back. 

“I think Agent Washingtub’s angry at Tex-as,” Caboose reported to Tucker.

“Yeah, no shit,” Tucker replied looking suspiciously to Caboose as well. “Uh… everything alright?”

“I feel like peaches!” Caboose announced. 

Shuffling uncomfortably as well, Church looked between Wash and Tex. “Hey, uh… So Caboose not remembering me? What’s all that about? Any ideas?”

“You exposed him to a very, _very_ intimate form of trauma,” Washington explained, not even glancing toward Church. His angry focus was locked on Tex instead. “You, personally, somehow became the source of that trauma to him. Rather literally or subconsciously. I’m leaning toward _literally._ Am I wrong?”

Tex remained silent. 

“To protect itself while it heals, his brain is going to try to forget the source of its trauma,” Wash explained further. “That’s you.”

“How am I supposed to lead a guy who can’t remember me?” Church asked, baffled.

Finally turning on Church, Wash all but whirled around on him. “How about asking how you’re supposed to lead someone who you have, at least in some form, _mentally incapacitated?_ How about you take some responsibility for causing _that_ stress and _that_ harm on someone who trusted you to lead them? How about you worry about _that_ and _then_ about how you could still call yourself a leader?”

Snapping, Tex lunged, throwing herself and Wash with all the brute force of her new body into the nearest wall, pressing her forearm right against the other soldier’s throat. 

“It’s not _him_ , Wash,” Tex hissed. “None of us are. _You’re_ not the only victim walking these halls. Stop acting like it.”

He snarled back without hesitation, “You’re right. Now there’s also _Caboose!”_

They glared at each other, Wash’s muscles quivering to resist while Tex’s steel and circuits held true. 

“Holy shit,” Tucker muttered behind them.

“Tex?” Church called, taking a few heavy steps forward.

“It’s all of us here, Wash,” she reminded him. “We’re all here because of him.” 

When Wash finally stopped pushing back, Tex released him. His glare never stopped. 

“I fucked up,” she admitted and nodded to Caboose. “Caboose, come here. We’re going to get you checked out and take a nap. Then Agent Washington and I can talk about what to do with your old friend O’Malley.”

Caboose tilted his head. “Who?”

And if Tex had guts, she imagined they would have twisted. 


	24. Recovery Two VII: Bat Out of Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The escape from Freelancer Command's storage facility takes some unexpected things from Control's team, though the real enemy doesn't seem to so much be Freelancer's guards...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was a little thin on the wordcount, but like I tend to claim over and over again I’m not overly concerned with the consistency of my chapter lengths so much because I feel like this chapter’s going to pack as much punch as the last few chapters regardless. And I’d owe about 90% of the fact that Recovery Two chapters are thinner is due to the fact that North and South don’t get as much opportunity to banter in that way I love to write between York & Delta or anyone from Blood Gulch for now. But in the future we’ll get to see that change. We just have some milestones for the two to reach first, and maybe some surprise appearances : ) But I’m getting ahead of myself…
> 
> Special thanks to @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @freshzombiewriter, Yin, @prettyarbitrary, BlueBird202, and staininspace for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

South wasn’t sure what surprised her less: Carolina and York being alive or Carolina and York managing to still be thorns in her side even after leaving Freelancer long behind her. 

The more things changed…

That was one fight, however, and it was nothing compared to the blinding rage she felt when Sharkface stepped out of literal line and attacked South’s former teammates. An attack which elicited some sort of lockdown protocol that was gating off their hallways. 

Biting down on the backs of her teeth, South stormed toward the Charon soldier. “What the fuck is the matter with you!?” she demanded.

Sharkface turned just enough for his visor to glint dangerously toward South. “Your friends dropped a building on me. They murdered all our friends. I may have to work with _you_ for now. But I want every last Freelancer to burn by _my_ hands. I will see them die for what they did!”

The ferocity in his voice, the stillness of his muscles as he stood over her – South had no doubts about the truth to Sharkface’s words. And there was a cold knowledge in that. There was only one way for it to end between the two of them. And South would have to be ready for it.

Not-CT fired into the back hall and launched a grenade, grabbing South’s attention. “We’ve got an entire security force breathing down our necks now. Got any recommendations for that, Miss Insider?”

“Yeah,” South snapped, squaring herself between the two Charon operatives. “Yeah, I fucking _do._ You’re going to shut the fuck up, return to formation, and let me lead you fuckers out of this goddamn _disaster.”_ She turned more pointedly toward Sharkface. “You’re going to put aside whatever personal agendas you have because while I’m in charge of your goddamn life, I don’t have _time_ for the bullshit. Now _flank.”_

Sharkface remained. South gritted her teeth.

“I don’t know what deals you two have with Hargrove, but I know he needs me right now a hell of a lot more than he needs the two of you. So do as I say before I put the kabash on whatever you have with Charon,” she hissed. 

The man moved forward at last and joined the other soldier in shooting them a path out of the facility. 

South waited a moment before turning to her open channel with north. “We have a direct path cut off. Can you clear the back for us?”

* * *

Looking down his sights, North breathed, released, then watched as the particularly dangerous guard on the turrets fell from his post. 

It was almost impressive to watch how many of the guys were coming out of the woodwork with the alarms sounded.

His own work felt less impressive among it all. Lining his shots felts like a fumble without Theta’s constant barrage of calculations and scenarios streaming along the corners of his HUD targeting system.

The AI was sitting back, evening out the nervous pulse of his energy in the back of North’s head. Trying to be small and unnoticed in North’s brain and allow the sharpshooter to work without the residual panic attack Theta was having. 

North could appreciate the effort. Still, not having his AI on point really did take out the _super_ in _super soldier._

“Consider it cleared,” North finally answered his sister. He took out another straying guard. “South, what exactly happened? Was it your unexpected company?”

“You knew about that!?” her voice screeched back. “Goddammit, North!”

“I tried to let you know,” he explained. “Something on your end interfered. Flipped Theta out. And for good reason – what the fuck were you making scream?”

“Blame our friends at Control,” she growled back, sounding unhappy with it all herself. “Their toys gave us accessible control of FILSS but she wasn’t happy about it. Then Idiot One and Idiot Two left a good trail of destruction to lead back to us along the way. Basically everything sucks.”

“Sounds about like our style,” North sighed back.

There was another stretch as North worried whether or not he had picked the right exit to cover when a warm stretch covered the back of his skull again. He breathed with relief as Theta, however still jittery, appeared over his shoulder.

“N-North,” Theta stuttered out, his projection a flurry of flinching light still in tandem with his mental pulse.

“You’re freaked out still, bud. I know. But we can’t be off our game right now,” he informed the AI in the most gentle tone he could force at the moment. “South could be in trouble and we can’t allow that, right?”

While Theta’s visage kept a helmet, North could just easily perceive the way Theta wanted to worry his lip.

“You’re right,” the AI squeaked through false bravado. “Y-you’re very right. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, Theta. But I _do_ need you to send a map to South to help her get out safely,” North continued. 

“Goddammit, North, I’m shooting my way out of Freelancer!” South growled over the airway. “Stop coddling him already! For fuck’s sake!”

“South, calm down. We’re working,” North began only for Theta to shake his head emphatically.

To North’s surprise, his light became stronger, more consistent. “It’s-it’s okay, North,” Theta said more confidently. “South’s right. I’ve got this.”

As the tiny AI spoke, a load bar appeared to the side of North’s HUD, completed, and went away at a remarkable speed. North blinked, impressed.

“Alright then,” North conceded. “South, you got that?”

“Yeah, on my way to you,” she reported. There was a pause before she sighed. “Thanks, kid.”

The frequency went into standby. Theta slightly beamed with the compliment. 

North watched Theta from the corner of his eye for a moment before returning to the sights of his rifle. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” North asked for good measure. 

"I’m okay,” Theta insisted quickly. But his calculations and signals did not appear across North’s HUD as he continued to snipe. 

“You sure?” North pressed. 

“I just don’t want to… to do _that_ part anymore,” Theta answered. “Not if people I like have to be on the other end.”

“I’m a sniper, Theta,” North reminded him coldly. “When I look down the barrel, I have to have distance between myself and the reticle. This is the biggest part of what we do.”

“Okay,” Theta said stubbornly. “But you’d shoot York and Delta – who I _trust_ – to help those guys with South I don’t?”

Pressing his lips to a thin line, North took a long breath then glanced back to Theta. “To do what I have to on _this_ end of my gun, Theta, everyone who ends up on the other side of it _has_ to be the same,” he explained. 

“You… you are so good to everyone,” Theta mumbled.

Giving the AI an apologetic smile, North reminded him, “They’re not on the other side then. They’re on _my_ side of the gun.”

“You never shot South,” Theta reminded him. “And you’re not the nicest to her when she isn’t in your sights.”

“That’s because she’s my sister on every side, Theta,” North explained.

Theta grew silent for a long stretch before making a collective breath with North. “i don’t like that, North. I’m sorry. I will run everything else… but I’m just gonna trust you to do what’s best with it.”

Not too pleased with that, North missed his first shot of the night. “So you’re _not_ okay.”

“I’m okay,” Theta replied. “But I’m making my own decision. It’s something _I_ don’t want to do.” He paused for a beat. “I’m… I’m also trusting you to not _make_ me.”

Blinking, North remembered that he very much _could_ force Theta to run his programs. He _could_ make it a directive and override Theta. 

He could.

North took another shot on his own. “Keep your eyes open for me, Theta. And take up communicating with South. I’ll need to be able to concentrate more.”

“Thank you, North,” Theta whispered before flickering off.

* * *

The irony of a botched stealth mission set _against_ Freelancer for once still hadn’t passed South by when she came upon the small clearing in the halls Theta had mapped out for them.

“Maybe your brother should let you borrow that AI,” the former Insurrectionist in CT’s armor chipped in uninvited. “You sure as hell seem to know more about which way you’re going now.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” South hissed bitterly. “And the smart ass emojis are completely necessary and not annoying as fuck at all.”

The reality was it _was_ better having Theta creatively thinking their way out of the facility. He had brain power the moment didn’t allow them to spare.

Beside her, Sharkface snarled like something feral.

“Some soldiers,” Sharkface mocked viciously. “So reliant on your toys, you Freelancers. So self-absorbed as lab rats you never even realized you didn’t have what it took _outside_ of your toys. That you were _nothing_ compared to the real soldiers you were mowing down like testing fodder.”

Unable to bear another word even with all the dangers that surrounded their current chase, South whirled around on her would-be teammate. 

“That is fucking _it!”_ she screamed.

Not-CT looked positively aghast at them both. “We don’t have time for this!” 

“Yeah, I agree,” Theta called out over the radio. 

Seeming absolutely pleased with himself, Sharkface squared up with South. He straightened to his full height. “We’ll make time.”

“Fucking idiot,” South hissed. “You think being tall will intimidate me? Have you _seen_ the goddamn tree of a brother I have out there? I don’t give a _fuck_ about how tall someone is, honestly. I’ll beat your ass down.”

“You’re that proud? _That_ offended on behalf of these thieves and murderers?” Sharkface snarked as he waved around the Freelancer facility.

"That makes you fucking _dumber,”_ South laughed. “I don’t give a shit about Freelancer. I hated it when I was _in_ the program. I checked out as soon as I realized that being the best was arbitrary – that I couldn’t move up the ranks because I wasn’t playing a game like the rest.”

Sharkface cocked his head. “You think you’re the best? Do you?”

“Motherfucker, I wouldn’t even _need_ to be the best to be good enough to put you in your place,” South warned.

“Um… South…” Theta called over the radio timidly.

“Prove it!” Sharkface snarled before coming straight at her. 

Ignoring Theta, South went into offense. She always thought it was better to attack than to be attacked. And she fully moved into her pivot away from the Insurrectionist’s lunge.

What South wasn’t expecting nor could she have ever even predicted, was the sudden heat that moved through her joints. A spark of something – like a lightning bolt through her veins – blew through her body. Her heart picked up a beat and suddenly it was like she was watching Sharkface in slow motion. 

Her dodge became more precise, her feet stood more firm. 

South took a full breath after her dodge then, with her arms’ muscles feeling like they were burning up from the raw energy, she knocked him flat in one punch.

He went careening to the floor and South gave a curious look down to her fist. She watched as the exhausts of her Charon armor lit up with an eerie green, some sort of surprise activation. 

She wasn’t sure if she should be happy or irate for having not been informed of the function beforehand. 

But the concern was neither here nor there at the moment. So South turned her gaze more fully on the unruly operative. 

She didn’t miss how his own helmet was newly cracked. 

"I’m not a Freelancer,” she snapped. “They barely would have me as one to begin with. They wanted their chosen stars of the leaderboard. And now even _they_ are tearing this place apart.” She paused to allow the glares of the former Insurrection soldiers to find her. “Now get the fuck up. You’re wasting my time. And if I hadn’t just gotten a plan for how to salvage this disaster you helped make, I’d leave your ass in my dust.”

Not-CT leered at her before moving to Sharkface’s side and helping him to his wobbling feet. 

South watched for a moment before turning back to the directions of her HUD.

“Theta,” she called over the radio.

“Yeah?” the AI asked with little assurance in his voice. 

“Did you capture the footage on North’s helmet of Carolina and York breaking into the facility?” she asked.

“I did,” Theta answered. 

“Send that file to me,” she ordered. “I’m covering our tracks enough to make Control covering _his_ ass a little easier on him.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I _mean,_ Theta, that this was an inside job and I’m providing a good answer to Freelancer on just _who_ that insider could have been,” South explained on her way out.

Stopping by the exit door, South reluctantly pulled out the Charon drive from before. She studied it, but when she saw from her HUD that Theta finished sending the file she no longer lacked confidence in her plan. 

She did what she had to do. 

First, South inserted the drive to her armor and looked back to the rest of her team. They glared back at her. 

“Cover me,” she ordered with no hint of further elaborating on what she was doing.

As they moved out to comply, South turned her attention back on the drive. She pulled it from her armor then looked to the access panel before her. 

“Believe it or not, FILSS, I _am_ sorry about this part,” South announced before inserting the drive and uploading the file to FILSS instead.

Rather than a wail, there was an exhausted whimper and South felt that if anything was worse than the screams from before, it was probably that. 

It finished and South looked to her team. 

“We’re going outside,” she informed them. “Smooth sailing after that.”

They were not impressed and South did not care anymore.

* * *

The very moment that North saw the team pass into the clear, he threw his rifle over his back and returned to the ship. He had made as few shots as possible, but he had no doubt that it would only take one quick witted military police among the guards to figure out his position. 

And without Theta on constant vigil and connection to him, North knew he both lacked the technical speed and the surveillance to keep that from happening. 

There was a tinge of regret and disappointment in that knowledge he knew he would have to fully examine later. But at the moment he was getting the ship started up and waiting for the sounds of the three remaining members of the team to side into the back door and shut it for launch.

Before even that, though, Theta appeared over his shoulder.

“They’re incoming,” the AI let him know.

“Thanks, Theta,” North said just as he heard it for himself and began starting up the ship.

“Um, they’re _also_ really angry,” Theta informed him before disappearing. 

“Yeah,” North said, exhaling strongly through his nose as the ship took off. “I’m pretty pissed, too, not gonna lie.”

North at least could take solace in the fact that the first one to burst through the cockpit door during takeoff was his sister. 

“Get us out of here, North!” she roared. He couldn’t see her, but he could almost _hear_ the gritting of her teeth as she shouted at him. 

“That’s the plan, South,” he informed her as he began to increase their speed. “How much of an issue is this going to cause us with your friend over the radio?”

“I took care of our end,” she assured him. She then turned on her heels and began screaming toward the back. “Absolutely _no fucking thanks_ to these assholes who can’t keep their priorities straight!”

Scowling at the skies ahead, North couldn’t help but imagine that no matter how true South’s assessments were, _that_ wasn’t exactly going to help current matters.

“You self-centered bitch,” one of the men, probably the hotheaded one North had already brushed with before, snarled as he came up toward the cockpit. “Our job is to _take Freelancer down–”_

“Your job is whatever the fuck I tell you it is,” South snapped. “Back. The Fuck. _Up.”_

“Your fancy armor can’t exactly _make_ me, Freelancer,” the man hissed.

“Terry, come _on._ Let’s think this through–”

There was a harsh connection of metal against metal and North knew that he couldn’t play around anymore. He glanced to his shoulder as Theta projected and pointed toward the controls. 

“Take over,” he ordered. 

“Oh, um. Okay. But I don’t think I’m old enough for a license yet, North,” Theta answered before his projection flicked out then reappeared over the dash. He nodded to North.

Unbuckling, North stood up and turned to the back just as South straightened up from the punch she had just delivered to Sharkface. 

“Alright, enough,” North snapped. “Everyone calm down. We’re lucky that they didn’t have any Hornets at the ready to trail us.” He waved to the vehicle they were in. “And we also don’t have enough room for a real struggle, so I think everyone would benefit from calming down–”

“Calm down!?” Sharkface roared. “I will _not_ be lectured to by _murderers_ and _thieves!”_

The man in CT’s armor stood by his friend on that one, leering at North more than South. “Neither of you have earned the right to talk down to us the way you seem to think you have.”

“That’s just South’s natural tone,” North attempted to joke lightly.

“North’s naturally a condescending prick,” South excused far more literally.

The twins glanced to each other then back to their forced acquaintances. At least on the font of dealing with the Insurrectionists they could be united in their competitive putdowns, North supposed. 

“You think this is a fucking joke?” the black and red armored one roared. “Is that what killing and maiming everyone in your program’s path was to you? _Was it?”_

North felt himself glance toward the cockpit. He wasn’t surprised by Theta’s careful eye trained on him, even though he was pretending desperately to be steering them to safety. 

“You both served,” North said where South’s diplomatic skills would have failed. He turned and glanced over them. “I know you did. I can tell. We all share that hardness. They trained into us, no matter what kind of soldier we were to become, that lives in service to humanity as a whole had to be expendable. _We_ are expendable. Our brothers,” he glanced to South, “Our sisters. We had to learn to value no human life more than another in order to do our jobs, to take our orders. To save humanity against extinction.”

Everyone stared at him in complete silence.

“They trained us, accidentally to feel for no one,” North concluded. “To care for everyone I had to be willing to kill _anyone._ And I did. I’m just learning again how to stop looking at the world that way. I don’t now if I ever can stop.” He glared at Sharkface in particular. “I don’t apologize for what I did. I don’t know how to. But are _you_ going to look at _us_ and lie through your teeth saying that you don’t feel the exact same?” 

That actually made North laugh, a sickening kind of laugh that was more real than any forced humor he’d given for York or Theta over the past few years. 

“Say what you will about my sister, me, this program,” North continued. “But we knew we were still hardwired to be soldiers for war, even as it looked like humanity was losing and so many people took the end of their tours as an excuse to try to live out the last few years as human as possible. We signed up for a program to continue being the best thing we could be for humanity. And they lied to us. They tricked us.” North narrowed his eyes. “But we didn’t become mercenaries. We didn’t _realize_ we were hired by a corporate feud. Whereas _some_ people on this ship very much _did._ You had no problem killing when you knew it wasn’t for the greater good.

“So who the fuck are _you_ to lecture _us_ on being decent humans?” North demanded.

The Insurrectionists and South all looked at North as if he was speaking in some sort of tongues before Sharkface let out a snarl and reached for his sidearm. North wasn’t sure what instinct led him to realize what was happening but as he grabbed for his own, he shoved South back toward the cockpit. 

The bubble shield activated, forming a firm wall between the Insurrectionists in the back and the siblings in the front. 

North blinked before glancing and seeing Theta for himself. 

If possible, the AI radiated with sympathy toward North. As if he understood something that North himself had not quite grasped yet. 

“This has gotten out of hand,” not-CT announced, grabbing his friend’s arm and pulling it back down. “Both sides. We need to calm down.”

“You’re welcome to do it first,” South snapped bitterly, pushing past North and giving him an angry eye as she did so. “If you have such a big problem working with the two of us, you can contact Control. Let him know how you fucked up in the storage facility as well, and then let me tell him how I solved his problems and got the things he wanted. Including dismantling the Freelancer Integrated Logistics and Security System. Meaning I just took down Freelancer’s entire server across the planet for him.” 

Not-CT stared back at South, seemingly biting his tongue before turning with his hand firmly on Sharkface’s arm. He jerked him toward the door and pulled up his wrist, the same way North had seen South contact with Control before.

They stood their ground for a moment, watching the other soldiers suspiciously, before Theta took down the shield. 

Then South rounded on North. 

“I can take care of myself,” she reminded him viciously.

North frowned. “You don’t _have_ to,” he reminded her right back.

“Don’t undermine me again,” she warned before lowering her head. There was a soft swear under her breath as she put her hands on her hips, then she glanced back up at him. “Thanks. For having my back.”

Just giving a shrug, North accepted it. 

“And all that other shit you were spewing,” she continued, a little more unsettled. “North… are you…?”

“I’m fine,” North replied. “Probably more fine than I have the right to be but here we are.”

South didn’t look away for a long moment but ultimately she looked back to check on the progress of the other soldiers contacting Control and gave a grunt. 

“I need to go plea our side of the story,” she explained before storming toward them. 

“Right, Boss,” North replied as he walked toward the cockpit. 

Theta watched him before disappearing and then reappearing on North’s shoulder as the former Freelancer sat down. 

“Are… you _sure_ you’re alright?” Theta asked worriedly.

“Absolutely,” North said firmly. “The only scary part about all of that, Theta, was that I was telling the truth.”

The AI said nothing out loud as North steered them forward, but North could detect the exact reaction the little guy was having. 

North telling the truth _was_ the problem as far as he was concerned. 

And yet, knowing it was the truth seemed to settle something deeper in North’s chest. He could feel the understanding and acceptance from Theta. 

Being trusted with the truth, however horrible it might have been, however adult and ugly, was exactly what Theta needed. 


	25. Recovery Zero VIII: Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escaping Freelancer, York and Carolina are left with the next big questions of their journey: where to go next and what to do with the Epsilon Unit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the turn around on this chapter was really quick. Half of that is because I adore writing York, Delta, and Carolina. Half of it is because I fully know that my parents will be staying with me this weekend and I am doing everything I can to get my week’s writing schedule finished before then so I’m not abandoning you guys completely for the weekend! Regardless, this chapter was fun. There’s a few tonal shifts, but after the last set of chapters we had I think we (and by that I especially mean me writing haha) could use some levity. 
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @analiarvb, alllula, @notatroll7, @prettyarbitrary, staininspace, and Yin for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

Carolina held to his waist as they sped away from the facility, clutching tighter at the sounds of the gunfire far behind them. 

York flinched at it as well, tearing his eye from the road ahead momentarily to glance back. But Delta was quick to project and shake his head once as if that was all that was needed to turn York’s attention back to the road. And it was. 

“I will manage keeping surveillance,” Delta promised. 

When the AI’s projection disappeared, a stream of data began to filter beneath the direct line of sight in York’s HUD. Delta was good at organizing the order of his readouts in orders of importance to the situation. York knew if the source of gunfire was so low on the HUD and mostly out of sight that they probably _weren’t_ aiming at him and Carolina. 

That was a good thing for them. Probably _not_ a good thing for South and that suspicious crew she was hanging around with. 

There were a lot of questions in those facts that York knew he had to ponder, but they seemed to disappear when Carolina’s helmet pressed into his back, right below his protective plating. Her grip was shaky, but she made no noise.

“Carolina?” he called back. 

“Keep going,” she whispered. “For the love of god, York, don’t stop. She did this for me. Don’t you _dare_ stop until we’re out of this hell.”

The clench he held on his jaw tightened but York nodded, turning every ounce of his attention back on the task ahead. 

They had to live. They had to _survive._

And given what they had just stolen, those things were a far taller order than they had been before.

Delta remained mildly distressed by the calculations he had in mind for it, but he rarely wasn’t distressed about such things. 

Carolina’s reaction, on the other hand, was causing a burning in his chest that York wanted desperately to relieve. 

“We need a direction,” York announced, attempting to hold the group together some as they fell apart at the seams. “We won’t stop until it’s safe – until we’ve done everything we need to, but I can’t just keep going forward without a direction. We need… I don’t know. A plan. Somewhere to get to.” He kept his gaze forward even as Carolina squeezed. “Lina?”

“Sim troopers,” she said lowly.

Delta projected near the dashboard and York looked to him. The AI gave an unhelpful shrug. 

“There should be abandoned simulation bases nearby,” Carolina explained. “They’ve been withdrawing support from the various points across the planet. There’s not enough people under Freelancer Command anymore to man every station. Most facilities aren’t social experiment fields but laboratories and storage houses.”

Taking a breath, York nodded. “Okay, good, that’s a start. Delta, what do you think?” 

“I believe Agent Carolina is correct. I also believe this is the safest course of action given what we know thus far,” Delta said. “I am not detecting any trace of us being followed on my trackers, though, of course, my accuracy is greatly hindered given the speed at which we are traveling and the lack of range on our suit sensors.”

“Can you pull up the nearest cleared facility on your records and chart it on the GPS?” York asked. 

“Absolutely,” Delta nodded before disappearing. “I will post the results momentarily.”

York breathed and dared to take a hand off the steering wheel just long enough to enclose it on the hand Carolina had wrapped around his waist. “Good work,” he told her softly.

There was a low huff of air over the radio and Carolina’s head shifted against his back, but she didn’t respond. And she didn’t move her hand either. 

It made steering less manageable, but York pressed forward with his attention straight ahead and his hand gipping Carolina, pulling her back to him as much as he could. 

As promised, Delta delivered on the location of the sim trooper bases they could access and fortunately the drive was not a long one nor was it one particularly mired by possible lookouts and check stations of Freelancer. 

Even if it were, like Carolina had pointed out before, the planet was largely becoming more and more abandoned. 

By the time they pulled into grassy knoll where the closer of the two bases resided, York’s arms were aching from having barely shifted position throughout the ride. 

He threw down the kick and began looking around, Carolina’s hands slipping from his waist as she got off behind him. York grabbed for the shotgun at his back. 

“Alright, the location’s surrounded enough by the terrain it should be a quick perimeter check–” he began to say only to be stunned as Carolina walked past him. 

She wasn’t in a particularly defensive stance or alert. She was simply walking upright and moving to the base entrance. Her hand wasn’t even on her gun. 

York stared after her for a moment before lowering his firearm. His eye settled mostly on the AI unit strapped to her back and the soft glow it was giving. 

“Dee,” he whispered. 

“Yes, York?” the AI asked back, appearing at his shoulder. 

“Is that thing able to effect her any?” he asked suspiciously. “That AI’s responsible for what happened to Wash, and I’ll be damned if I let it–”

"My readings conclude that the Epsilon Memory Unit is on standby,” Delta informed him. “Even if it were properly connected to Agent Carolina’s armor’s AI slot, which I’m also reading it is not, then she would still be at low risk for danger.”

York frowned, watching as long as he could before Carolina disappeared within the depths of the sim trooper base. “She’s not acting herself,” he announced to Delta. “I expected… I don’t know, a vicious scream? Denting the gungoose in some? Anything.”

“Perhaps she needs time,” Delta suggested gently. Then, back to his old tone, added, “Might I remind you that _you_ are not one to critique coping mechanisms or lack thereof.”

“You might _not_ , thanks,” York replied as he began to do a quick perimeter check. “You’re not picking up anything are you?”

“I am not,” Delta said firmly. “But it does not mean shortchanging the perimeter check given the circumstances.”

“Since when have I shortchanged anything when it came to safety?” York asked casually. 

The AI flickered on over his shoulder again. “I have compiled a list–”

“No thanks, I need to keep my ears open for undetectable enemies,” York replied cheekily as he carried forward. 

Surprising no one, there was not an unforeseen visitor waiting at any of the points around the base. Even the opposing Blue Base was barren and empty, though it contained some extra ammunition that York was more than happy to help himself to.

Everything had been cleared out and abandoned. And by the looks of it, it had been in a hurry.

“The UNSC isn’t messing around about closing the doors around here,” York concluded to Delta.

"I believe they are taking particular umbridge with the management of Project Freelancer,” Delta agreed.

“Wow. Someone tell them to get in line,” York snorted before they came back upon the base Carolina had entered before. 

Taking a breath, York readied himself for fists and fury from Carolina. Really, _anything_ from Carolina that was remotely herself. Which was part of why he was so surprised to find her in the center of what looked to be the equipment room, fully dressed in armor, and working with power tools on the AI unit. 

“Huh,” York said, scratching at his chin. “Well, it’s not _out_ of character.” 

Delta flickered off on York’s shoulder before projecting closer to Carolina, seemingly peering into the Epsilon unit. 

“It appears that Epsilon’s power reserves are at thirty-two percent. That would be dangerously low for a unit not provided additional energy sources,” Delta observed. “It is very good of you to have plugged him into a power supply, Agent Carolina.”

“They were much lower,” Carolina explained. “It’s been on its own power supply for a while, they didn’t have it connected at the storage facility for some reason. I don’t believe it interacted well with the fed simulations.”

Delta hummed slightly. He flickered unexpectedly.

York’s brows knit together. “Dee?”

“That is expected,” was all Delta said in response before looking curiously to Epsilon again. 

Taking note of the strange flurried reaction for later, York crossed into the room and drew up a chair on the other side of Carolina’s workbench. He looked at her curiously, wishing he could see her face, know what expression was being given to the AI unit beneath her helmet. 

“What are these fed simulations?” York asked, decidedly sticking to the topic at hand.

“Much like a human brain, AI function best under stimulation,” Delta explained. “Particularly nubile interfaces and smart AI that are freshly programmed after a neural scan of the human brain they’re based off of. In order to fully develop and to be able to process functions at optimal levels, an AI would require stimulation to their programming. Challenges and environmental stimuli help a brain learn, and they help AI learn as well.”

“Right, makes sense,” York said in a flat tone. When Carolina gave him a look he shrugged. 

“Given the speed at which a smart AI has to interpret the data transferred from the human brain they’re based on, and given the level of responsibility and personality that will be expected of them in a short time, artificial stimulus has to be developed in order to help them grow into their expectations,” Delta continued. “A forty-year-old human brain takes a newly formed smart AI seven entire days to process.”

“That’s intense,” York decided. 

“But you are fragments,” Carolina reminded Delta. “Not smart AI. And I’m assuming you didn’t get nearly as long to process.”

“It was thought best in Freelancer that personality was superfluous to the traits each fragment were assigned,” Delta explained. “I, being logic, should have had a matching logical personality. The time needed to allow artificial stimulus to further mature me was a waste of resources.”

York scowled. “But we’ve been through this song and dance before. You’re _not_ just logical. You’ve got a personality. Annoying as it may get at times.”

“That, York, would be thanks to you,” Delta reminded him. “Being implanted to your brain allowed me over the time we have spent together to mature and develop in a unique way. In that sense, _you_ as Freelancers became our stimulation. And so long as we are with Freelancers and are left implanted, we do not require artificial development for those basic things.”

“But AI without a Freelancer _would_ need stimulation to develop them,” Carolina continued. 

“So these fed simulations are like a computer program? Like a game of Sims or something to keep the brain entertained?” York asked, raising a brow.

“They are usually catered to the AI’s needs,” Delta replied. Then, lowly, “Theoretically.”

“Theoretically?” York pressed. 

“When I was pulled on the MOI and brought in for inspections, I was given my own fed simulations in an AI Memory Unit much like the one Epsilon is using presently,” Delta explained. “Mine involved puzzle solving. The Memory Unit would remember the puzzles I worked through in previous encounters and build off of them. I recall Sigma saying his own was dissimilar, instead making an open environment which he then was able to craft artificially what he pleased out of it.”

Stiffening, York glared at Delta. “Why were you talking to Sigma?” he demanded.

“York, you were always present, and never seemed to mind,” Delta reminded him.

“Yeah, well, that was before…” York replied as he glanced toward Carolina. “So what’s the deal here? Epsilon likes his simulations so much he doesn’t want to come out and talk?”

“No, York,” Carolina snapped with more of that anger he had been looking for. “Epsilon wasn’t connected to his simulations at all.”

“I would not expect Epsilon to react well to fed simulations given the questionable history of their use,” Delta replied.

“What? Not everyone likes puzzles?” York replied.

“York, Sigma and I received positive stimulation,” Delta continued. “ _Negative_ stimulation was also utilized. Theta was only turned in for fed simulation once that I am aware of. I am inconclusive about the exact simulation used, but it is not one he ever revisited. I believe Epsilon is the result of negative stimulation as well.” Delta hummed. “In a sense, perhaps we all are.”

“Okay, so this AI can’t mature healthily _in_ someone’s brain, it can’t mature healthily _out_ of a brain,” York summarized before focusing on Carolina. “And we’re trying to turn it on?”

“It will know where the Director is, or at least give us a clue,” Carolina said, slamming her screwdriver on the table. “Fuck, it’s _still_ not on and it’s been charging forever!”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” York said firmly. “This AI just about killed Wash, Carolina. It wasn’t something even Freelancer wanted to mess with. Maybe we should let it go.”

“I will _never_ let go,” Carolina growled, finally looking at York. “I _can’t_  let go, York. We _left her!_ We left her! And the Director is still out there and… and…”

York moved forward. Slowly, he moved his hands to the sides of her helmet, gently unhitched it and let the helmet lift off into his hands.

Carolina’s face was red and streaked in wet streams, her green eyes burning but exhausted. 

“She’s my best friend,” Carolina coughed out. “I never even told her–”

He wasted no time pulling Carolina into his arms at that point. He ran his fingers through her hair and tucked her under his chin. 

Delta respectfully signed off for a moment. But behind them, York could see Epsilon’s light beginning to pick up in its glow. 

The former Freelancer studied it for a quiet moment, but as Carolina tugged his shoulders down, York turned from the AI unit. It was something to deal with later. 

Right then, Carolina needed him first. 

* * *

She knew they really didn’t have the time to waste, but Carolina was so numb and tired that she ultimately didn’t care all that much. Not on the surface at least.

Instead of making plans, moving forward, she sat with her back against the wall and stared expectantly at the Epsilon Unit. And, likewise, York sat across the room staring expectantly at _her._

The low, thoughtful hum of Epsilon had long since Carolina’s momentary weakness become their substitute for silence. So much so that the _true_ silence that broke out through the room when Epsilon suddenly stopped became deafening. 

Both Carolina and York perked up, staring at the AI unit without daring to so much as breathe. There was no clue between them as to what the sudden behavior meant. 

And then, to Carolina’s horror, the light turned out on the Epsilon Unit. 

“No,” Carolina choked out, little more than a gasp. 

York’s body tilted back in his seat. His mouth closed tightly as if he was holding back something to say.

Then Carolina put her hand through a cabinet door. “Goddammit, Epsilon!” she screamed.

As if in response to hearing its name, the light of the unit came on again. The hum returned, perhaps even louder. 

The former Freelancers stared at it in confusion and wonder. 

Carolina _really_ wanted to punt it for her most recent emotional roller coaster. Then again, the risk of turning the device off permanently was far too big of a chance to _really_ play chances with. 

“What is the _deal_ with this thing!?” Carolina growled. 

Giving an unhelpful shrug, York offered, “Maybe it’s just sensitive.”

Glaring at York, Carolina almost spat out her rebuttal when Delta projected between them. They both looked to the green AI in wait.

“While York spoke facetiously, I do believe there is truth to his suggestion,” Delta explained. “The Epsilon AI is, according to all reports I have been able to gather, a notoriously sensitive construct. His development is therefore presumably just as sensitive. A sensitivity that the practiced Freelancer methods have somewhat purposefully lacked.”

More irritated with the entire scenario than anything else at that point, Carolina waved to the unit. “Then what _can_ we do with it?”

Delta tilted his head. “I believe presenting Epsilon with natural, sensitive stimuli will yield the results you are looking for.” Once again, the Epsilon Unit lit up. “Conversation and speaking in reference to Epsilon by name in the construct’s company alone are eliciting results. As you can very well see.”

On the other end of the room, York was already standing on edge.

“Hold up,” York said with an emphatic gesture of his hands. “Natural stimuli? You mean like putting it in someone’s brain? Yeah, _no._ That’s not happening here.”

Carolina turned her attention fully on York. “It might not have to,” she told him. “In the storage facility, I communicated with Epsilon pretty freely. I might just need to start up conversation again. Epsilon seems to respond well to me for… for some reason.” 

Just what that reason could be was worthy on investigation at another time.

However, her explanation, it seemed, was not good enough for York’s tastes. He crossed his arms and leered at her. “ _Might_ isn’t good enough here. I’m telling you, no one’s sticking that thing in their heads after what happened to _Washington!”_

She never took well to being told what to do, but Carolina was even more alarmed to the increased hum of the Epsilon Unit. It grew stronger as the gentle blue faded more and more into a dangerous hissing red. 

Both Carolina and York jumped to their feet and watched as Epsilon’s reaction reached its apex then quickly, quietly, returned to its regular standby state.

They stared together before Carolina snapped on York.

“ _Sensitive,_ York!” 

He gave her a truly bewildered look before crossing his arms. “ _Please,_ don’t act like it makes any sense for _me_ to get a lecture on sensitivity from you here.”

"I believe,” Delta spoke up, looking casually between the two of them, “that it is best if we monitor our tones, content of conversation, and even actions when in Epsilon’s presence. If the theory proves correct and our interactions with Epsilon while he remains in the Memory Unit are influential to his development, then discourse would be… an _unpleasant_ exposure to say the least.”

The AI then gave a heavy look to the Unit. “I also believe that it is best if _some_ memories are avoided altogether. Epsilon did not seem to respond well to the memory of our former Freelancer friend. I would say that it was an unpleasant implantation process for Epsilon.”

Scowling, York gave a dark look to Carolina. “It was _also_ pretty unpleasant for someone _else_ , I imagine.”

Seeing they weren’t getting anywhere under the current circumstances, Carolina pointed to the door. “York, if you’re not going to be any help, just leave this to me.”

He looked at her like she had completely lost her mind. 

“You can’t be serious,” York replied. “Carolina–”

“York, you’re worried about me,” she said. “Thank you.”

That stopped him in his tracks. His eye widened slightly and he waited for the other shoe to drop. 

“No, I mean it,” she insisted “I need that. I need you to worry. I’m not ignoring it. But this is something I have to do for the sake of _everything_ both of us has put on the line. And for what others have given up _for_ us.” She looked at him intently. “Trust me to handle Epsilon. _Please.”_

Taking a breath, York gave an untrusting glance toward the AI unit and then nodded to Carolina. “Fine,” he said. “Mind if Delta watches?”

“I would be happy to observe and assist,” Delta offered.

“That’d be fine,” Carolina agreed. “I’d actually appreciate the help. And… again. _Thank you,_ York.”

York gave a forced smile her way before throwing on his helmet and crossing the room toward the door. He paused by the workbench and knocked his knuckles against the table with Epsilon. “Behave,” he warned before continuing on his way out. 

As the door closed behind York, Delta turned his face to Carolina. “Actually, behavior and behavior modification are a part of conditioning and therefore probably dependent on our developing of Epsilon’s construct–”

“Calm down, Delta,” Carolina ordered as she settled in the seat closest to Epsilon. “I have an idea of what we’re doing.”

“Very well,” Delta said. He paused only for a beat before looking back to Carolina. “Actually the rules and regulations of Project Freelancer were in place often for reasons, likable or not. Perhaps in light of the situation with the Meta i should reconsider direct contact with another AI. Given, Theta and I operated rather well around each other–”

“Calm _down,_ Delta,” Carolina sighed. “You’re fine.” Her gaze settled more intently on Epsilon. “We’re all fine here.”

The eye blinked awake and focused on Carolina. There was still no AI projection like any of the others would have formed. 

“Hello, Epsilon,” Carolina offered all the same. “Are you… better now?”

When the AI didn’t respond, Carolina motioned toward Delta. 

“Epsilon, this is Delta,” she introduced. “He’s a very good friend of ours. And, really–”

"I believe Epsilon might have some memory of who I am,” Delta said, concern leaking into his tone. “Perhaps this line of thought is not the best to pursue at the moment.”

Confused, Carolina stared at Delta. “Why–”

In the corner of her eye, Carolina saw as Epsilon began to fade and dim the lights of the Unit again. Her heart nearly leaped into her throat and she turned immediately back to it. 

“No! No, Epsilon! It’s me, the Recovery Agent! We talked before, you should remember this!” Carolina nearly begged. “I’m… You called me…” Her eyes tightly screwed shut and she shook her head, taking a long breath. She couldn’t quite bring herself to say the old name. 

But she needed _something._ She looked to Delta. 

Seeing her need, Delta nodded. “I believe Epsilon responds to conversation and stories. Perhaps you should attempt several and pursue those which elicit reactions.”

“You’re a lot of help,” Carolina grumped before looking back to Epsilon and taking a breath. “I don’t beg,” she informed him.

That, it seemed, got the AI’s attention.

“I never have, my parents weren’t the kind to cave anyway. My mom wasn’t,” she said, heart thumping in her chest. “Dad… he was stubborn but. Back in the day he’s the closest you could get to caving for things. After… After, he wasn’t.” She tightened her fists. “I don’t beg, Epsilon. It’s not what I do. Which is why what I’m about to say is so goddamn important. I mean it, I can’t stress this enough: I’m asking you to wake up some for me.”

The AI unit hummed but it did not speak, it did not form. It watched her like a hawk.

Carolina gritted her teeth. “Do you know how hard this is for me? I… I’m at wit’s end. I don’t know what to do next. _That isn’t how I function._ I’m a leader. People rely on me. I’m supposed to keep people together. I’m supposed to be held to a higher standard.”

Delta remained curiously quiet, retreating slightly as if to give Epsilon and Carolina space. 

“People really relied on me,” she informed Epsilon. “In Freelancer. The program that made you… It was a fucked up program. I couldn’t see that, though. I didn’t want to because… Because I was important to people. People who mattered to me. As long as I was in the program they could see me working, see what I was willing to do, trust me. I wasn’t about to give that up for _anything._ But… one by one… it fell apart. And I just. I _couldn’t_ see it.

“Connie did,” Carolina muttered. She took pause and rubbed at her face. “CT. She wanted to go by CT in the end. She saw the ugly truth and… I let her down. I guess everyone did in their own ways, but I was her leader. I should have been someone she could have gone to regardless. But damn if I wasn’t the blind leading the blind.” Her fists clenched again. “The program sent us after her. They had Texas _kill_ her for knowing. For betraying. For all of it.” 

Looking to Epsilon, Carolina clasped her hands together. “Epsilon, I am… I am _begging_ you to help me. Not only because of what the program did to you – the awful things it did to you – but because of Connie. And because of Niner. Whatever Niner’s fate is after what she did for us to get you, it is going to be my fault and my choice. And if I can’t at the _very least_ make the Director pay for some of that, then I am not worthy of a damn _ounce_ of trust I have been given in all this time.”

The low hum remained consistent. 

Then, weakly, Epsilon’s voice whispered, “It hurts. It hurts to remember alone.”

“I know,” Carolina sighed. 

“How am I supposed to do anything _but_ remember?” Epsilon asked tiredly. “There’s so many memories. How do people do it? How do you not just remember all the time?”

Taken aback by the question, Carolina shook her head. “Some people just… they don’t, Epsilon. Sometimes it’s too much. Even for people.” She thought for a moment before nodding to him. “But that doesn’t have to be what you do. There’s more to you than just a memory.”

"What am I if I’m not memories? Aren’t memories what make you?” he asked, frustration riddling his voice.

“Experience makes you,” Carolina corrected. “Memories… the good ones. They’re just the things that remind you how far you came.” 

Delta seemed pleased with that one. “That is very poignant, Agent Carolina.”

“It takes a lifetime to figure out,” she admitted. She then smirked toward Epsilon. “Sorry, kid. That’s a cheat code for you if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Okay, so… I have a brain full of things to remind me of how far someone _else_ has come?” Epsilon asked almost disdainfully. “Where do I go with that? How do I even get started there.”

“Just take the ones that are good and make something out of them,” she advised. “And I’ll be sitting here with you to help you figure them out when you need me to.”

“Oh,” Epsilon muttered. “And… when I remember something relevant, you’ll know from that, too.”

Carolina blinked before nodding. “That’s… That would be very helpful to me, too, yes,” she acknowledged.

“Okay, well… I’m glad it’s you, at least,” he sighed. “Some of the best memories I have are with you.”

Worriedly, Carolina shifted. “Like?”

“Like when you woke me up and said I was an Artificial Intelligence Unit,” he informed her.

“ _That’s_ a best memory, Epsilon?” Carolina asked, slightly shocked. 

“There’s some really fucked up stuff in this head of mine,” he acknowledged. “So… yeah. Kinda.”

Taking a breath, Carolina decided that doing things the proper way, as Delta had suggested it was, would be a very long haul for all of them.

* * *

If he was completely honest with himself, York knew before the words left her mouth that Carolina was going to ask him to leave. That was the least surprising surprise of that incredibly draining day.

Carolina had made a bit of a habit of not wanting him around after any even _mild_ approach to intimacy. 

 _It’s somewhat more complicated than that, York,_ Delta let him know. 

“It’s not _that_ complicated,” York said as he stepped outdoors. 

Like the rest of the colonies, what little rotation the planet had was unnoticeable from the surface. York faintly recalled the factoid that the planet’s day cycle would be completed over the next forty years, which basically made it none of his concern. 

Though he could easily imagine how the constant, unyielding daylight probably did work on the nerves and sanity of the people stuck there for years at a time. 

Really, the only thing that made the planet as semi-habitable as it was were the terraforming the UNSC had done even before Freelancer’s questionable acquisition for testing grounds. 

Glaring at the grass of the knoll beneath his foot, York gave the dirt a firm kick and wondered who would have ever been interested in the useless rock to begin with. They learned in debriefings about the planet outside of the simulation bases and it seemed to be almost entirely formed by extreme natural climates – deserts or blistering ice caps – and the scattered ruins of an alien civilization predating even that of their enemies in the Great War.

York wondered how long without regular attention the grass would last on the planet.

Glancing around the bases, York sighed. “I don’t know, Dee. I just… don’t know.”

Delta hummed expectantly for York to continue. 

"Is it just me? Am I _so_ unreasonable to be a little bit worried here?” York asked. 

 _Actually, it’s all rather logical from my perspective,_ Delta replied.

“You agree with me? That’s unusual,” York marveled. “How’s it going in there by the way? Everything alright?”

 _A surprising amount of progress is being made actually,_ Delta answered. The AI sounded rather impressed. _I believe it is all thanks to Agent Carolina as well._

There was a faint curve to York’s lips as he sighed. “If anyone could, she could,” he joked. 

 _Epsilon responds to her in kind,_ Delta continued. _He trusts her. I believe that there is a familiarity to Agent Carolina for him._

At that, York paused his trip around the exterior and scowled. “You believe so, huh?” York asked seriously. “Because if I didn’t know any better, Delta, I’d say you _knew_ better.”

Delta hummed. _I only have theories and suspicions to draw from my personal logical conclusions, York. The likelihood of them all being correct are slim to none._

“Uh huh,” York replied, raising his brows. “I’m sure, Dee. You’re innocent as always.”

_I find your lack of faith disturbing._

_“_ Okay, knock it off, I’m trying to be serious here,” York snapped as he put his hands on his hips. “You really think Carolina’s alright with this AI? After what it did to Wash? I know she’s not implanting or anything…”

 _It’s far too soon to test Epsilon’s capabilities in a neural interface,_ Delta dismissed. _And there is no direct influence I can foresee from the current indirect contact. It is simply having conversation. Expanding Epsilon’s social abilities through practice, if you will._

York narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean ‘too soon’? How much is too soon to you? Because you _better_ be meaning _never_ , Dee!”

Delta hummed. 

“Goddammit, Carolina,” York growled before quickly turning on his heels and racing back toward the base entrance. 

* * *

There was a sigh hanging on her chest as she slowly accepted the next step.

“You’re _certain_ you can handle this level of integration, Epsilon?” she asked. 

“Carolina, I don’t remember _shit_ about what I can or can’t do. I’m only certain I’m a computer because you and the green guy insist on it,” Epsilon fired back with far more personality than he had had in either of the times she had met with him back at Freelancer. 

Delta seemed self assured that all of it was a _good_ sign for them and what they needed fro Epsilon. 

In truth, Carolina _wanted_ to agree with him. She wanted to believe that that they could already start moving forward. But thee was a nagging voice in the back of her head that whispered insecurities to her on the whole thing.

One that sounded _impeccably_ like York.

Which made it no surprise when he burst into the door and pointed at them like he was about to accuse them of stealing bread. 

“Stop!” he ordered. 

Putting her helmet down hard enough on the table for it to make a thud, Carolina turned around on York. Her aggravation was almost clouding her vision. 

“Did you just _tell_ me what to do, York?” she demanded thickly.

“If it stops something _truly_ stupid from happening in here? Yes. I absolutely did,” he answered without hesitation. 

“Wow,” Epsilon’s voice rang out. “What were you about to do that was so stupid, Carolina?”

Almost cartoonishly, York tilted his head toward the Epsilon Unit. Even with his full armor on he looked baffled. 

“You got it to work?” he asked.

"No, York,” Carolina snapped. “In the half hour you managed to actually leave us alone, I learned how to throw my voice. I’m thinking of putting on an act. How am I doing?”

The other soldier’s attention turned back on Carolina and he shook his head. 

“Lina, please, leave the sarcasm to professionals,” he begged. “It’s so wrong and unfun when you do it.”

“York,” she warned.

“What? Saying my name a few times is going to make me back down?” York asked. “If that was true, Delta would have won _so_ many arguments by now.”

The green sprite of Delta projected over York’s shoulder, like it was its natural state. “This much is true.”

“There, Delta agrees with me on something,” York pointed out, motioning toward the AI. “If that doesn’t freak you out enough to listen to me then I don’t know what will.”

“Woah,” Epsilon said. “I’m impressed. Um. Should we listen?”

“No, Epsilon,” Carolina responded, putting a hand on the unit. “York is my subordinate. Which makes his current actions _insubordination._ The opposite of what you should be listening to.”

“Yikes,” Epsilon added.

York let out an offended noise and put a hand on his chest. “I thought we were _partners.”_

“You gave me limited permission to take a leadership position and overrule you,” she reminded him. Carolina tapped her finger on the workbench. “In a room between the two of us. You said AI don’t count.”

York stared at her. 

“You can’t use that against me right now,” York scoffed.

“I can and I am,” Carolina said with a pop of her lips. 

Delta gave York a tilt of his head. “For the record, I disagreed to that entire night.”

“Not now, Dee,” York replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“Right… so I have no idea what’s going on right now,” Epsilon informed the room. “But something deep down inside me is stirring. And I don’t think I like it. Or you. Who is this guy again?”

“This is Agent York, formerly known as Foxtrot-12. He was the infiltration specialist enlisted into the services of Project Freelancer and my paired partner,” Delta informed Epsilon. “He was also slated as the second top agent of Freelancer for a very significant amount of time. Second only to Agent Carolina.”

“That makes sense,” Epsilon beamed. “You can’t get better than Agent Carolina.”

Carolina couldn’t help the sardonic laughter erupting from her chest as she crossed her arms to that. “Oh, stop.”

York waved his hand. “Oh, barf. Using an AI to inflate your own ego. I expect better from you, _Boss._ ”

“York, shut up, you forced Delta to memorize your pickup lines for you,” Carolina said back reaching for the Epsilon Unit. 

“Those were important uhhh… Dee, help me out,” York ordered with a look to his shoulder.

“Social developmental tools,” Delta offered.

“Perfect,” York nodded.

“ _You_ sound like a _developmental tool,_ ” Epsilon snickered. 

“Hey, hey. _Language,”_ York called before looking mortified at the sight of Carolina opening up the Epsilon Unit. “What– no! Carolina what did I _just_ tell you we were not doing with this thing!? Is _nobody thinking of the consequences besides me!?_ I should _not_ be the responsible one!”

“Fucking _hell_ , what is this guy’s problem? Does _everything_ require yelling?” Epsilon moaned. 

“He’s just worried,” Carolina soothed before pulling Epsilon’s chip from the inside of the Unit. It immediately powered down. “And you!” Carolina snapped, glaring at York. “Do you have _so_ little faith in me at this point that you think I’m going to stick Epsilon in my neural implants? The _same_ neural implants we don’t even know whether or not they’ll be habitable after what I went through with Eta and Iota?”

York stared, a little dumbstruck. 

Delta nodded to her. “I did not, Agent Carolina. I’ve been aware of the plan.”

She gave the AI a sour look. “You also _share his brain,_ Delta. And didn’t inform him. I’m guessing for your own amusement?”

“Yeah, what the hell, Dee,” York replied, turning on his AI.

“I merely deduced that it was a plan best explained by Carolina and Epsilon themselves,” Delta shrugged. “My apologies for the inconvenience.”

“You are turning into quite the troublemaker today,” York huffed almost affectionately. It was as if he was proud of Delta for the streak. But the bemusement faded as he looked instead to Carolina. 

Then the gaze turned almost painfully real. 

“I don’t doubt you,” York said firmly. “I don’t agree with you sometimes. I don’t like what you have to say sometimes. But doubt? There’s never doubt between us.”

Carolina felt her grip on Epsilon tighten. “I know,” she said softly. “I’m… a royal bitch today, aren’t I?”

“You’re worried about a friend,” York said with a heartbreaking amount of empathy in his voice. “I know from experience that… worrying about someone who you don’t even know the fate of… it’ll drive you crazy. And to _do_ crazy things. _Bitchy_ is the nice side effect.”

"I’m _not_ sticking Epsilon in my brain,” she reinforced. “Not any time soon.”

“Yeah, everyone keeps adding the _soon_ part, we can just leave the self-destructing AI  _never_ going in another person’s brain where it is just fine,” York said. “But if that’s not what you’re doing then…”

“You and Delta were able to grab equipment and armor enhancements before the escape,” Carolina reminded him as she reached for her helmet and plugged Epsilon in directly. “Enhancements that are best run in the field _only_ with an AI able to help my armor run them.”

“And Epsilon receives real-life problem solving stimulation as well as social interaction by keeping in constant contact with Agent Carolina even as we’re on the move,” Delta continued.

York looked uneasy. “He _could_ access your implants from there. This is _still_ dangerous. And we don’t know if he’ll improve that much quicker than if we just backpacked his Memory Unit.”

“I don’t know, _Foxtrot,”_ Epsilon’s voice strongly rang from Carolina’s suit. 

They watched as an aqua sprite projection appeared right over Carolina’s shoulder. Like Delta, it was in full armor, but unlike Delta’s Mach 5 armor, the new projection was updated even beyond the armor issue York was wearing. 

Epsilon tilted his head. “I’m feeling pretty good already.”


	26. Recovery One VIII: Priorities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaos breaks out in Blood Gulch as tempers rise. Tex and Wash are both left with the need to make a decision on what they do next and who for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m mortified at how much this chapter got out of hand and yet at the same time I had so much fun writing it and it’s so great to really get into the meat of the One story and start pulling the Blood Gulch crew into the greater happenings (however little at a time) Man it’s a blast. I hope it’s half as interesting to read as it was to write lol
> 
> Special thanks to alllula, @notatroll7, Yin, @secretlystephaniebrown, @analiarvb, @i-will-batman-you, @prettyarbitrary, and MeteorAtDusk for the feedback on AO3 and on tumblr!

Her ears were ringing, if such a comment was even possible. Whatever _auditory perception_ she had was ringing, and the firing of her processing was sparking off to the beat of a pounding heart. 

Tex was feeling alarm, excitement, _anger_ – the things a simple program, or really the _shadow_ of such a program, should not have been able to feel. 

But the sensation was all there. All recognizably the same. 

Panic. 

Which made her breathless reaction to Church suddenly popping up in front of her in his shining, projected glory all the more visceral. He shocked her.

“Get in your body,” she ordered, seething.

“This was faster,” Church argued easily enough. “Saved the time of walking and, y’know, searching for you as you blazed the trail out of the rec room.”

“Get in your body, Church. We just fucking got them, now _use it!”_ she roared, full well knowing she was beginning to act hysterical to herself if no one else. 

“You can’t tell me what to do,” he responded with a roll of his head that no doubt went with his projection’s eyes beneath the armor.

In a harsh, berating tone, Tex reminded herself there was no body beneath that armor, there were no eyes – there was nothing human. Just what was seen, and the coding behind it.

“Do it, Church,” she snapped off. “Unless you’re happy being a ghost. Then I’ll just smash the body Tucker and Washington built for you to bits. I _need_ something to crush right now.”

“Yeah, right,” Church laughed. “That’d require you to do something besides pacing. But you’re not giving _that_ up any time soon, are you?” he asked. “Caboose is in bed so you get to walk a hole through the floor.”

“Why can’t you just get in the body and stay in it for now, Church?” she demanded. “Stop jumping around to people–”

Immediately, Church’s head tilted down. An angry spark seemed to be ignited in him. “Why? _Because you think I’m responsible for all this somehow?”_ he snarled.

Tex stared back at him. “I never said that–”

“You think it though,” he said, projection stepping back from her. “Everyone thinks I’m responsible for what happened to Caboose. To everyone. Is that _right?”_ He asked, waves of dissonance flickering through his image. “That’s what that Agent Washington guy was worried about, right? That I can fuck everything up? That I make mistakes and people get killed?”

She stared at him. The pulse of her thoughts grew stronger, more erratic. 

The Alpha was coming out in Church more and more and she could _see_ him fraying at the edges from it. 

“You’re fine,” she said firmly. “You’re not responsible for anything.”

“I’m responsible for _everything_ on this goddamn team,” Church argued lowly. 

“Stop it,” she ordered.

“Stop _what!?_ Fucking everything up!? Getting you killed!?” he cried out, sounding more and more hysterical himself.

“I’m not dead,” Tex corrected. “I never was. I’m…”

“Tex, neither of us are alive,” he reminded her.

Silence grew tightly between them, Tex putting her hands on her hips before glancing down. She could feel the strong thrum of Church’s anguish. Her body was a useless pile of steel to do anything about it, but she – the Beta AI – could almost reach out and touch it, radiate it back as something more unified and pure and–

“You’re right,” she said out loud. “Neither of us are. But we aren’t responsible for that.”

Church stared at Tex before dropping his head. “But you think I’m responsible for whatever’s going on with Caboose?” he asked lowly.

“I think we don’t know all the facts,” she replied. 

“Oh, I think you and Mister Scary Freelancer know _plenty_ of facts,” he seethed. “You’re just not telling me. So either you two have a secret against me or you _really do_ think I hurt Caboose. That I’m responsible for everything that’s happening to Blue Team. And I can’t… Tex. Tex, I _can’t_ be responsible for bad things again.”

Tex stared at him, whatever substituted for a heart clenching deep within her programming. “Then don’t be,” she offered. “Don’t be a leader anymore. Give it to someone else–”

“No!” he spat. “They’ll do it wrong!”

Frustrated, Tex threw up her arms. “Church, what the fuck do you want me to say!? You can’t have it both ways!” 

“I don’t know what I want!” he yelled back. “I don’t! Sorry, Tex! But I just… I want us together again. That’s all I know.”

She glared at him. “ _Us who, Church?”_ she demanded before waving around the base. “Us? Me and you? We’re on the same side right now, Church. We’re together. Tolerating each other. Coexisting. You annoying the fuck out of me, me cleaning up this mess we’re in called a team. What’s more together for us than that?”

“I don’t know,” he said back. “I just… It’s all I know. And it doesn’t make sense. But _you_ and I’m betting that gray armored asshole know _why_ it doesn’t make any sense. So. It’d be awesome if you could catch me up.”

And _that_ was something she absolutely could not do. 

Lowering her head, Tex shook before taking a breath and looking back up to him. 

“You’re not responsible for what happened to Caboose,” she reassured him, internally knotting up at the thin line that existed between their truths and their lies. “I am.”

Church stared at her for a long breath, soaking in the information. 

“Well, you _failed_ then,” he snapped before disappearing.

Tex had never felt a stronger slap to the face. 

* * *

Being on the other side of an unconscious body wasn’t entirely new to Washington, but it was far from familiar.

Watching the lines of worry, concentration, and pain all cycle on the Sim Trooper’s brow was nail biting. Every change brought on an entirely new sensation of worry and fear like none before it. And that was all from Wash questioning how much of his own experience could be applicable.

Could Caboose be sifting desperately through sensations, emotions, and depressions which couldn’t have all been his own? Was he stuck in a daze he couldn’t wake up from? Was there an unprecedented urge to hurt and be hurt that all came from a strikingly new place in his own mind?

Were these things only they could truly empathize with?

Looking at the pacing other Blue, Wash couldn’t help but feel there was a distinct disconnect between the way Tucker worried his lip and the actual understanding of what was at hand. 

Maybe that was a good thing, though. Wash couldn’t imagine wanting more people to share in that horror. 

And perhaps if he kept that perspective he’d someday find it within himself to forgive his once friends for not being there for him.

Someday.

Until that time there was Blue Team to be worried about.

“Is there a reason for you to be pacing like that?” Wash asked Tucker lowly.

“Why? You the walking police?” Tucker asked back petulantly.

“Wow. Good one. I find myself _so_ insulted,” Wash replied dryly.

Tucker curled his nose and crossed his arms. “Have you ever been told you’re kind of a total dick?” 

“Is that unusual around here?” Wash asked.

“No, but it’s noteworthy so that while I deal with you I don’t confuse you _too_ much with Church,” Tucker shrugged.

The full body flinch that came with hearing _that_  declaration was too overpowering for Wash to stop. He sucked in a deep breath and shook his head, ignoring the sick, sinking feeling of his stomach and the intensity of Tucker’s gaze on the back of his head. 

“Dude,” Tucker began. 

Whatever comment that was going to form, however, did not come to fruition as both Wash and Tucker looked to the moving Caboose. 

Wash kneeled by Caboose’s bed and grabbed the man’s hand.

“Hey there,” he said as gently as he could manage. “You went out like a light once we calmed you down, soldier. It must’ve been some much needed sleep.”

Caboose blinked at Washington before rubbing at his eyes. “Y-yeah… I don’t know about that, Agent Washingtub. But it _is_ nap time. See, it’s right after snack time? And then there is play time. But I don’t know when to put play time yet.”

Caught off guard by the comments, Wash found himself leaning back and simply staring at Caboose for a long moment. Then he looked to Tucker.

Tucker stared just as bewildered right back. 

“Um, is this… _normal_ behavior?” Wash asked worriedly.

Again somewhat haplessly, Tucker shrugged at him. “I don’t know. Why’re you asking _me?”_

“Why?” Wash repeated, scowling. “You’re serving together supposedly.”

“Yeah, okay. _Sure,”_ Tucker replied. “ _But_ I’ve not known the guy that long. He’s just the team rookie. _And_ over half the time I have known him he’s had an angry AI-thingy in his head wanting to _kill_ me. So, gee, Wash. _Sorry_ about not asking more questions along the way.”

"Rookie?” Wash repeated, looking to Caboose again.

“Oh my god. Stop saying everything right after I tell you. You’re like a fucking annoying parrot,” Tucker groaned. 

Wash didn’t really pay that much attention to Tucker’s ravins, however. His attention was fully on Caboose. 

The Blue still looked peaked, his head lowering tiredly. Caboose seemed concentrated on running a hand through the locks of hair right over his ears. 

Something was still sickeningly familiar about it all.

“Just a rookie,” Wash sighed. He squeezed Caboose’s hand slightly. “Guess we keep finding things in common, buddy.”

Blinking wildly, Caboose looked up to Wash. “We’re friends?” Caboose asked.

“Uh oh, the _f-word,”_ Tucker whistled behind Wash. “Tread lightly!”

“Do you ever stop?” Wash asked critically. But his stomach twisted and churned all the same. He had meant it before when he told Tucker he had never used friendship or even battle buddy so listlessly. The thought alone was enough to dry Wash’s throat.

But Caboose was looking up at Wash with big, doe-like eyes, hair sweatily matted across his forehead. He had maybe the wobbliest chin Wash had ever seen on a grown man.

“S-sure we are,” Wash replied.

Tucker snickered, looking at Wash almost sympathetically. “Oh, man. _Weak_ answer. Super weak!” 

“You are so negative,” Wash told Tucker, looking over his shoulder at the aqua colored marine. “And that’s coming from– _MEEE!!!”_

Before he could even blink, Wash found himself pulled onto the bed with Caboose, face pressed so firmly into the man’s chest that Wash was worried about the weird direction his nose was bending. He coughed and struggled to push back at least enough to breathe.

Tucker could _not_ have looked more smug about it all. “You were saying?” 

“Shut up,” Wash warned. 

“Agent Washingtub! I am so happy to have a friend like you. You are so… _prickly!”_ Caboose announced.

Scowling some despite himself, Wash tilted his head. “Prickly?”

“Oh my god, _stop it!”_ Tucker groaned. 

“Very prickly,” Caboose nodded. “Like… hedgehogs! Or, like my absolute best friend ever!” Caboose took a deep breath and sat back in his bed. His mouth hung open for the words to form, but nothing came out. And, slowly, even Caboose began to realize it wasn’t right. 

As Caboose’s grip on him loosened, Wash slipped out of Caboose’s hands. He frowned in worry. “Caboose? Are… you alright?” he asked.

As if surprised himself, Caboose put a hand to his head. Then he added the other. “It hurts,” he alerted them. “What’s my best friend’s name? Why does it ache in my head?”

“Good question, since I didn’t think there was anything left in your head to ache, dude,” Tucker gave as a flaccid attempt at humor.

“That is _not_ funny!” Wash snapped angrily before sitting on the edge of Caboose’s bed. He ignored the affronted looks Tucker was throwing his way and instead concentrated on massaging Caboose’s scalp.

Every muscle on Caboose was tensed, but he slowly began to relax under Wash’s touch. 

“How’s that?” Wash asked genuinely. “It took me a while to figure it out, but the implants has a lot of extensions into the nerves so sometimes this relieves the headaches.”

“Yeah, I don’t know _everything_ you just said, Agent Washingtub, but this feels very nice,” Caboose replied. “Even though I feel lots better in my helmet.”

"Well, that’s a good way to feel since you’re always going to be a lot safer in a war zone with your helmet on,” Wash acknowledged. He then paused to stare back at Tucker who had been looking on in horror for a few seconds. “ _What?”_

“All that worrying and shit about Caboose? Knowing what to do for headaches…” Tucker trailed off.

Frowning, Wash pressed, “What about it?”

“Do you have real reasons to act like such a dick?” Tucker asked with what passed for sincerity in the canyon. “Like, you’ve done all this shit before? Is that why you’re so freaky?”

“I’m not _freaky,_ I’m…” Wash paused and sighed. “yes, Tucker. I was the rookie everyone left in the dust when an AI decided to use my brain as a personal piñata. It isn’t something you just… walk off, alright? Not alone, at least.”

There was a far more understanding look to Tucker’s face at that. He shifted closer to the bed and his two teammates. “Is that why you were so pissy at my joke?”

“No, I was pissy at your joke because it was insensitive _on top_ of not being funny,” Wash answered. “But… it’s whatever. Just cut Caboose some slack.”

Nodding, Tucker seemed to take his hint as he leaned forward. “Hey, Caboose… Remember _me,_ Big Guy?” 

Almost immediately, Caboose’s face soured. “Tucker, _you’re_ not my best friend… You’re like… Far away from that!”

“Fucking _seriously?”_ Tucker demanded. “It wasn’t just the AI then! You’re just an asshole deep down, too?” The man paused. Then he looked to Washington. “Holy shit, I just figured out what everyone on this team has in common.”

Wash simply stared blankly back at Tucker for his truly uninspired revelation. He never got to properly respond, however, as the base shook after a thunderous boom. 

"Owie! My head!” Caboose seethed. 

“What the fuck is that?” Tucker demanded. 

Putting a firm hand on Caboose’s shoulder, Wash looked back to Tucker. “Sounds to me like your tank is back.”

“Why’s she firing at us?” Tucker asked skeptically. 

“Didn’t she shoot and supposedly kill your leader?” Wash asked. 

“No, Tucker did it,” Caboose corrected in a weak voice.

“I did not, you lying bastard! Stop saying that or you’re going to start believing it!” Tucker warned.

He debated about ending the argument, but ultimately Wash couldn’t bring it upon himself to defend _either_ side too much before the squabbling was interrupted. 

“Oh, _Bluuuuuue Team!”_ a familiarly Southern voice called. “We’ve got something to interest you!”

There was another explosion and long stretch of curses. 

“And call off the fucking tank already!” another voice yelped. 

Wash and Tucker glanced at each other before heading to the door. 

“Stay here and put your helmet on, Caboose,” Wash warned as he snapped on his own, Tucker following suit. 

“Yes, sir!” Caboose cheered back.

It wouldn’t hit Wash that he was unironically called _Sir_ until he and Tucker were already halfway out of the base.

Standing just outside the base, the Reds were using the Blues’ own on-ramp to hide from Blue Team and Sheila’s main canon. Not that Wash entirely blamed them, seeing as the tank’s sights aimed his way didn’t exactly feel wonderful to Wash either. 

"I don’t think we’ll be getting far conversation-wise with the tank still taking aim, Tucker,” Wash informed the younger soldier. 

“Yeah,” Tucker agreed before shrugging. “But it also means we aren’t getting annoyed by having to let the Reds, you know, actually talk to us. So I consider that a pretty definitive win-win.”

Already seeing the utter lack of progress that awaited him in the argument, Wash released a long, defeated sigh. 

It was cut short by the clank of armored boots rushing across the metal grating within Blue Base. Both he and Tucker looked back to the door just as the familiar, but new, forms of Church and Tex ran out.

Interestingly enough, Wash noted that the two AI-driven robots came from opposing sides of the hall.

“What the fuck is going on!?” Church screeched. “Are we under attack!? Who’s attacking us!?”

“Looks like in true Blue Team fashion, _we_ are attacking us,” Tucker offered with a hefty point of his thumb toward Sheila.

“ _What?”_ Tex snapped.

“As far as we can tell,” Wash answered, “Red Team is here for negotiations of some sort.”

Both Church and Tex looked over the ramp to where the Reds were cowering from the vengeful might of the offended tank. The Donut guy emphatically waved back. 

“Which we haven’t gotten to yet because the tank’s treads were insulted by someone on Red Team,” Wash finished up. “This, _apparently,_ is an offense punishable by death.” He took a deep breath then released it in a gravelly sigh. “And just as a personal reminder of how far _my_ star has fallen in a once promising military career: everything that came out of my mouth made perfect sense to me. Good lord.”

"Oh, you’ll survive,” Church sneered.

“Yeah, Wash, look on the bright side,” Tucker added. “You had a promising military career before this. _This_ shit has been my _entire_ time.”

Not impressed, Wash looked to Tex. “Can you make the tank stop long enough to at _least_ sort out what’s going on here?” he near begged.

“It’s not like this can get any dumber,” she agreed before skipping to the edge of the ramp. Tex then apparently turned on the helmet’s intercom function. “Sheila! Cease fire for a bit!”

The tank’s slow roll forward halted and the gun almost seemed to nod.

From the distance, Wash could barely make out the “Directive acknowledged!” that still came from a hauntingly familiar voice.

He shook it off and looked instead as the Reds stepped out from their shared cover. 

They all but their leader stumbled out. However, they also quickly got in line. There was only four of them, which Wash took some comfort in as that was how many he and the current Blues made on the ramp to face them.

Even numbers were good for negotiations. 

He hoped the Reds would take the even draw as a reason to _not_ get into too much trouble with them. But then again, Wash was slowly running out of hope to give in the canyon. 

“So, just to get this in the air first,” the orange one spoke up, “your tank blew me the fuck up. So. Fuck you guys for that.”

“Oh, boo ho,” Church snapped. 

“Yeah, she’s a fucking _tank,”_ Tucker reminded them. “Blowing up enemies is, like, her job description.” He then looked out toward Sheila. “Keep up the good work, Sheila!”

Not wanting things to stray any farther than they already had, Wash stepped closer to the Reds. “What’s the point of coming back over here?” Wash demanded. “We gave you your pink guy–”

Donut sputtered in horror. “Uh, the correct phrase here is _lightish red,_ thank you very much!”

Wash stared blankly at the soldier. “Right. Well, we happen to have a word for that.”

“You have all your men back,” Tex took charge. “So only stupidity brings you back here.”

“That and apparently wanting to get your fucking _ass beat!”_ Church mocked. 

Donut bounced on the balls of his feet. “Oh, man! Now I know why _I’m_ here!” he cheered.

“No, Donut!” the brightly red clad leader barked. “We are here for the last of our soldiers! The man you did not return to us as promised, you dirty rotten scumbag Blues!”

Wading through the sergeant’s insults, Wash thought about what _other_ Red they could possibly be referring to. He came up with nothing.

Apparently the Blues were doing much the same.

Church turned to Tex. “Psst! Hey! Did you kidnap anyone else?”

In an unusual display, Tex didn’t seem to so much as acknowledge Church. She just looked over him to the Reds. “We don’t have any other prisoners,” she answered. “Now leave.”

“We don’t mean _you_ specifically!” the lanky maroon one called out. “We’re talking about Lopez! Our robot. He was taken somewhere, we think.”

“And _you,”_ the orange one said with an accusatory finger pointed toward Wash, “mentioned an evil computer program.”

Wash and Tex immediately glanced to one another then back to the Reds. 

“Fortunately, I learned from _others’_ past mistakes and put a traceable signal on Señor Roboto,” the Southern leader chuckled confidently. 

“ _Un_ fortunately, our scanners say he’s all the way in Sidewinder,” the maroon further elaborated. 

“And, for reasons _we won’t explain to a dirty Blue_  we need him!” the sergeant exclaimed. 

“Well, that _sure_ sucks for you,” Tucker shrugged. 

“Yeah, have fun on Sidewinder,” Church said as he waved them off. “Here’s a free tip: it’s _cold as balls!”_

“Now wait a moment,” Wash interjected, almost immediately regretting his decision. “What does _any_ of this have to do with us?” His stomach flopped as three Blue heads turned curiously toward him. “With _Blue Team,_ I mean. Them… _Why are are you here!?”_

“We want to use your high-tech transporter-thingy to get to Sidewinder quicker,” Sarge informed them. 

“No. Go get your own!” Church snapped hastily. 

Wash blinked then turned to face Blue Team. “Transporter!?”

Tucker threw up his arms. “Wash! Goddammit, dude! Just stop questioning every word out of our mouths!”

“Yes, transporter,” Church replied dryly. “We have one. Is that such a big deal?”

“ _Yes_ it is!”Wash cried out. “Jesus Christ, how does _nobody_ question the bizarre high standards of equipment around here but me!?”

“Wash, you’ve met us,” Tucker reminded him sternly. “You _know_ that we don’t give enough of a fuck to question these kinds of things.”

Without warning, Tex jumped down to the Reds. “We’ll let you use our transporter. Follow me.”

“What?” Wash synchronized with the rest of the Blues. 

“What the fuck, Tex!?” Church demanded. 

“Sorry to _fail_ your expectations, Church,” Tex hissed at him. She nodded to the Reds and began leading them toward the roof access. “Keep up. If we’re going to Sidewinder I’d like for it to be sooner rather than later.”

Confused and more than a bit surprised, Wash jumped down after Tex and ran past the Reds to get to her. 

“You’re going to Sidewinder _with_ them?” Wash clarified on the climb up. “I thought you were just getting the canyon clear.”

“O’Malley is out there and it’s too much of a coincidence that an android body that we know an AI can take over is missing, too,” Tex answered readily. “I need to get him. I need to stop him. And if these guys are willing to help to get their useless robot back, then that’s fine enough for an alliance for me.”

“Holy shit! We’ve got a Freelancer now!” the maroon one marveled.

“I bet it’s not as good as advertised,” the orange one grouched in return. 

Following behind, Church and Tucker stepped up. 

“If Tex is leaving then I am, too,” Church announced. 

Tex looked completely exacerbated by the comment. “ _Church.”_

“I’m pissed at O’Malley, too,” Church snapped. “I want to stop him. It’s my fault he’s gotten this far.”

Wash looked to Tex to see a reaction but got nothing.

“Fuck, I guess I’m going to go, too,” Tucker sighed, more annoyed than anything else. “What about you, Wash? Ready to kick some AI ass?”

Washington stood flat on his feet and looked at all the helmets staring his way. He was shaking his head no before he even realized he had considered his options. 

“I need to stay here and make sure that everything is under control,” he said vaguely to the crowd. Though all of them had puzzled looks, Wash concentrated on Tex and answered her unasked question. “Wyoming.”

Understanding, Tex nodded. “Someone needs to be here for Caboose, too, of course,” she said. 

“Of course,” Wash answered.

“Now wait a minute!” the Red leader snarled. “I can’t take all my men with me on this dangerous and important mission if you’re going to be leaving Blues behind! I need to leave someone to protect the honor of Red Base!”

“Fine, whatever,” Tex said with a wave of her hand.

“Yeah, we don’t fucking care, dude,” Tucker replied.

“Donut,” the orange and maroon called out in unison.

“Score!” Donut cried out. 

“Fine, that’s settled,” Tex huffed before moving over to the edge of the Base roof where Wash was shocked to see an honest-to-god transporter active. She settled at its side and began reworking the control panel located on the thin edge. After a few moments, she stood back and the transporter flickered out before turning back on, its green glow even brighter.

Wash became _very_ content with the fact that he wasn’t going to be jumping through it. 

“Alright, this should take us to Sidewinder,” she said. Her gaze carried back to Wash. “You’ve got Caboose?”

“I do,” he promised. And he meant it.

“Alright then,” Tex said, hands on her hips. “Who wants to try it first?”

* * *

She knew she shouldn’t have been _too_ surprised by Wash not wanting to travel through the transporter. He was less interested in the business with Omega than he was with waiting and watching for Wyoming. Which was a benefit since, as much as Tex would never admit it, she probably wasn’t going to be able to handle both at the same time. 

But it was surprising to her that he took to the Base and cited _Caboose_ as a reason. 

He was taking the damage to Church and Tucker’s teammate seriously, maybe more seriously than she had initially given him credit for. 

Still, there wasn’t much time to waste on the queries of it all. 

“We’ll go in Blue-then-Red until we’ve all passed through the portal. That seem fair to you?” Tex asked Sarge.

“Absolutely not!” he growled. “We will march in Red-then-Blue or no deal!”

Simmons stepped toward the leader. “Wonderful negotiation tactic, Sir.”

“Kiss-ass,” Grif hissed with a motion of his whole head rolling with his eyes. 

“Fine, who _cares!”_ Church groaned. “Let’s just get _moving_ already!”

“Yeah, seriously, this is annoying as fuck!” Tucker whined. 

“Well, since you’re so eager, boys,” Tex snapped before pointing to the transporter. “Tucker, you first for the Blues!”

“Aw man, but these things _suck!”_ Tucker moaned as he stepped forward. 

“Since we’re going with whiny annoyances first, can we send Simmons for us?” Grif asked dully.

“Hmm, as much as I refuse to agree to anything suggested by a whiny annoyance, even _I_ have to see the logic of your comment, Grif,” Sarge snapped. “Simmons, you’re going first because you’re the closest thing to a _trustable_ soldier that I have.”

Simmons faltered in his step. “R-really, Sir?”

“No feelings, Simmons,” Sarge ordered.

He sighed, shoulders dropping. “Yes, Dad– I mean, _Sir!_ Of course, Sir! Ha ha! Whatever you say.”

After that, Simmons bounced forward to Tucker’s side, earning a look of complete disgust from the aqua marine. 

“You’re going to have a complete meltdown on me at some point, I can feel it,” Tucker muttered. 

“Only if I don’t keep burying my issues as far down as they can go!” Simmons replied crisply. “Okay! Reds first! I won’t let you down, Sir!” He stepped closer to the transporter and waited before glancing to Grif. “And, Grif… since we don’t _really_ know how well this think will work on the other side, and since you _do_ happen to have half my weight in what was formerly my internal and external bodily organs… Well, I just want to say–”

Having had enough, Sarge stepped forward and pushed Simmons with one arm into the transporter, earning a cut off squeal.

“Yeah, thanks for sparing me from that. I guess,” Grif responded, flustered.

“That wasn’t for you, numb nuts! It’s for Lopez!” Sarge barked. “Everyone stop wasting time!” He looked to Tucker. “You’re up next, Blue! And remember… _I’ve got my eye on you._ So don’t think I won’t notice if you touch a hair on one of my men’s heads before I come through to blast all your blue keisters to Kingdom Come!”

Tucker marveled for a moment. “ _Keister?_ Oh, fuck, now _I’m_ repeating shit.”

Growling, Tex shoved Tucker through as well. She then glared at Church. “Go!”

“Alright, fine! Hold your fucking horses,” Church snapped as he stepped up at the same time as Grif. “And just so you know, Orange Guy, I have no words of wisdom for how this thing works out. All I’ve done is thrown rocks through it.”

"Yeah?” the orange soldier asked with a tap of his fingers against the butt of his gun. “How’d it work out for the rocks?”

Church tilted his head back in thought. “They came out on the other side. Covered in black shit and smoldering.”

The soldier stared dully at Church for a moment before letting out a long grunt. “Fascinating,” he said before looking back to Sarge. “Sarge, I fucking _hate_ this goddamn plan.”

“You’re going to get in that transporter and you’re gonna like it, dirtbag!” Sarge snapped. 

When Grif continued to hesitate, Sarge stepped forward which was all that was needed to make the soldier dive into the transporter head first. 

Tex looked expectantly at Church, watching as he took a breath and rubbed his hands together. 

“Hey, so… maybe that maroon guy had the right idea about, y’know, saying some words of encouragement and shit to people before leaping into the unknown,” Church began, looking seriously at Tex. “And I was thinking about the fight earlier and… Well, I just wanted to let you know–”

She took absolutely _no_ remorse for kicking Church through the transporter. 

Turning her head, Tex waved to the transporter. “After you,” she offered to Sarge.

The Red leader chuckled and walked right for the light show. “I like your style, Freelancer,” he informed her. “I like it a goddamn lot!”

Tex watched as the man disappeared before her eyes then looked to the ramp Wash had left on a while back. There was an unsettled feeling, _gut instinct_ if she had had guts to feel with she supposed. 

Nearing the edge of the base roof, Tex called out to the tank. “Sheila! Watch over these idiots while I’m gone,” she ordered. 

The tank nodded her gun. “But of course, Agent Texas!” 

Beside Tex, the pink armored Donut turned and blanched at her. 

“Now wait a minute, ma’am!” Donut called out. “You’re saying that there’s _two Blues_ you all are leaving here to keep order in the canyon to the one soldier that Red Team is leaving?” He paused. “That _one_ soldier being _me?”_

Tex hummed in thought before shaking her head. “Not at all,” she replied. “We’re leaving _three_ if you count Caboose once he’s back in commission.”

She watched as the soldier went stock still in horror.

Smirking, Tex walked past Donut and patted his shoulder before whispering, “Watch where you chuck grenades next time. Because this is me in a _good_ mood!”

With that, Tex leaped through the transporter.

She wasn’t completely sure what she expected to feel. The experimental transporters had been something of a novelty even on the _Mother of Invention_ , but she and the other Freelancers were still trained with them accordingly.

Their accuracy was phenomenal and the coordinates were supposed to be exactly set to her landing location. 

So the snow was expected, but Wyoming’s kick to her head was not.

Surprised, Tex let out a muffled yell before being flung into the snow behind her. There was a stiffness to her joints and armor – a protective lockup from impacts. But she didn’t need protection, she needed _speed_ to get back at the white armored bastard.

“You son of a bitch!” Tex roared as she shoved herself up and dove for him. “Wyoming!”

“That would be the name, Dear,” he chuckled as he almost knowingly blocked her swing and sent her diving to the ground again with her own momentum. “Please don’t wear it out.”

"I will _end_ you!” Tex snarled as she kicked back and successfully made contact with Wyoming’s chest. 

The other Freelancer gasped as the air was knocked from his lungs but he didn’t have time to even land before Tex was grabbing his arm and hurdling him toward the nearby rock facing. 

She stood breathlessly as she stalked after Wyoming. Determination was hardwired into her – that _need_ to make sure he didn’t get back up. 

“You made a mistake today, Wyoming,” she snapped. “If you’re working with O'Malley, then you just gave me _more_ of a reason to kick your obnoxious, knock-knock joking ass.”

“Ah, _O’Malley,”_ Wyoming coughed as he pushed onto his knees. “So he’s taken up human names as well. How interesting. My employer will be interested in hearing that.”

Tex paused in her approach, eyes narrowing. “ _Employer?”_ Without further hesitation, she grabbed Wyoming’s shoulder and shoved him into the rocks. “Who’s after Church? Tell me or I’m going to make you _wish_ you’d never taken the bet to go against me, _then_ I’ll shove you right into that transporter so Wash can have his turn.”

“Washington? Bugger me,” Wyoming laughed. “This just turned _more_ interesting than I could have ever expected!”

Before Tex could deliver on her promise, Wyoming’s knee came up, crunching into the metal plating of Tex’s abdomen before he grabbed the back of her neck and threw awkwardly forward. She could feel the lock up.

If Tex had been human, these points would have been housing vital organs, her spine – but on her robotic body they served only to send her further into the protective lock of her armor.

She fretted against the forced safety measure, but it did’t stop it. Her body became unresponsive and sluggish, half kneeled in the snow. 

"I’m afraid my current plans don’t deal with you directly, Dear Texas,” he sighed. “And look at the _time_! I absolutely have nothing to waste. Not with the main target about.”

Tex could almost feel herself go cold. “Church.”

“The Alpha?” Wyoming laughed. “Oh, he _wishes.”_

For a moment, Tex felt dumbfounded. Alpha was what Wyoming was after, he _had_ to be. But if he wasn’t… then what could it all possibly be for? Who could Wyoming have been sent after. 

But Church’s words from the argument resurrected themselves, and she could hear the hollowness in the question again. _My fault._

 _“Tucker,”_ Tex realized in a gasp. She looked up, but Wyoming was already gone and she had no idea where the transporter had sent her.

Or where the others could have been.

* * *

After what felt like the eleventh hour, Washington decided that Franklin Delano Donut was an annoyance and a nuisance, but he was not a threat. 

That much was obvious after he realized there was _sincerity_ in how the man referred to Caboose as _Mister Caboose._

“Well, as Red Team’s representative I can’t say I’m too happy that I’m outnumbered three to one,” Donut said, hands firm on his hips. “But with you around, Mister Caboose, I feel that there’s at least _some_ honor upheld here. And, darn it all, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to take on a full room of men on my own!”

“Can we not,” Wash begged more than he would have liked to. 

The pink armored soldier tilted his head curiously. “Not what?”

“Nevermind,” Wash sighed before looking to Caboose. He would have preferred if the Blue rookie had stayed in bed, but at least with him up and active there was the tiniest bit of relief in Wash’s chest. He took a steadying breath and firmly squeezed Caboose’s shoulders. “You’re alright, Caboose?”

“Alright?” Caboose asked before throwing back his head. “I am _great!!_ You didn’t tell me we would have company, Agent Washingtub! I would have cleaned the kitchen. It is a mess in here.”

“That would be because it’s a boiler room,” Wash replied, feeling a worried line trench in his forehead. “Caboose… I’m _very_ glad you have your helmet on–”

“You said I’d need one. So. I did it!”

“I’m glad,” Wash repeated. “But… you’re still wearing your undersuit and not the rest of your armor. So I’m afraid the rest of you isn’t much safer until you have _all_ of your standard issue equipment on.”

“They’re so stuffy,” Caboose bemoaned. 

“Yeah, that’s a problem with the Mach Four,” Wash sighed. “They’re working on it. Until then,” he continued, grabbing Caboose’s arm and pulling him toward the hall, “how about we actually wear what we have.”

"Okay,” Caboose said, following along to his own room.

“Oh! Washington!” Donut called out, keeping in step. “You said _they’re working on it._ Is that some kind of secret code? Does that mean there’s a new armor in the works?”

“Yes, exactly. _Secret code_ that means exactly what it sounds like,” Wash snapped more bitterly than he wanted to. In his defense, his patience had long ago dried out and what he had left was in reserve for Caboose. 

“That’s the best kind of secret,” Donut preened. “Hiding the secret right in front of your face!”

“Sure,” Wash grunted as they made it to the bunks and he let Caboose go to start putting his armor back on. He glared at the scene and wondered whether or not Wyoming would take the opportunity with Tex gone to return to the canyon. 

If there was anything of value to the former Freelancer left in the canyon, then _that_ would be the time to do it.

“Psst, Washingtub!” Caboose stage whispered as he danced around on one foot, try to rehitch the lower body plating. “The new guy sounds very smart!”

“New guy?” Wash asked, a bit confused.

“Ew, I’m not a Blue,” Donut corrected, sounding offended.

“He’s not a new recruit, Caboose,” Wash agreed, nearing the solider. “Do you really not remember him? You two have met before.”

“Of _course_ I remember Colonel Creambutter,” Caboose responded with a full head roll to no doubt match his eyes. “Duh, Agent Washingtub. He’s like. The Reddest friend I know. But with Blue Team gone forever, I thought we’d need more people than you, me, and Sheila!”

Donut squeezed his hands together. “Aw, he _does_ remember me!” 

Wash stared at Caboose, far more disturbed by his words than apparently Donut. “Wait a minute, Caboose… Blue Team’s not gone forever. They and Red Team went through the transporter to go after O’Mallely. They’ll come back soon.”

Caboose paused for a moment in thought before shaking his head. 

“Mm. No, that’s not true, Agent Washingtub,” he replied. “See, O’Malley was in my head for a while. We were kinda like roommates. So he left some things. No forwarding address. _Where am I supposed to put all this mail?_ But see, I know some things. Some good things. Mostly bad things. _And_ he taught me how to get very, _very_ angry! But he also told me how to fix things. And do the opposite of fix things.”

“You mean break things?” Donut asked, scratching at his helmet. 

“No,” Caboose said firmly.

Washington felt an abnormal chill along the back of his neck before staring at Caboose in complete loss. 

“Caboose, why don’t you think Blue Team is coming back?” he pressed.

“Because O’Malley told me to not-fix the transporter,” Caboose replied. “Duh, Agent Washingtub. You can’t come back on a transporter if it’s not fixed.”

“Caboose!” Wash yelled out, horrified. “That’s _very_  bad! People could be sent _anywhere in the world_ with that thing!”

Donut looked at Wash. “Wow, really? It’s that powerful?”

“Yes, anywhere on this colony planet that has a transporter could theoretically be open game,” Wash responded. “This is _very bad–”_

“I don’t think that’s how we not-fixed it either, though, Agent Washington,” Caboose said, growing a bit worried in tone himself. Perhaps he was understanding the difficulty of the issue at hand. “We used a thingy called… Random-en-er.”

“A randomizer?” Wash asked.

“Yes! Exactly, Agent Washingtub!” Caboose cried out. He then glanced to Donut. “Agent Washingtub is _very_ good at many things! Especially with wordstuff.”

“Oh, so he’s really good with his mouth?” Donut asked.

“Stop that!” Wash growled. 

Donut looked at him, confused. “Stop _what?”_

“The innuendos and the bum-chicka-woo-woos, I can’t take any more of it in this canyon,” Wash hissed. He looked back at Caboose. “So the transporter has had some sort of randomizer applied to it which means there’s a limited number of places that they would have been sent to. Okay. That’s good.”

“Oh, good! I’m glad to hear the good thing is still good. Woo. Relieved feeling. Yup. Feeling it,” Caboose nodded. “Wait, is Tucker good, too? Eh. No longer feeling it.”

“Enough,” Wash snapped. When Donut looked to him, Wash pointed to Caboose. “Help him get the rest of his armor on and meet me on the roof. I need to talk to Sheila and then we’ll find a way to get everyone back in one piece. I should have _known_ this was a trap!” 

As Wash took out toward the base’s halls, he overheard a loud muttering from Donut of “He really likes jumping to the worst conclusions, doesn’t he?”

He ignored it in favor of taking immediately to the outside. And even though he was looking for the giant Scorpion tank, it still nearly made him jump out of his boots when its gun moved on its own to look at him just outside the base door.

“Hello, Agent Washington!” Sheila said cheerily. “I do hope Caboose is feeling better.”

“He’s… doing as expected,” Wash replied. He couldn’t shaky the unnerving similarities in hearing Sheila’s voice, however. “Say… Sheila, do you happen to have another name?”

“Why, yes,” she replied, canon nodded. “You may also call me the M808B Main Battle Tank if you prefer.”

“No, Sheila’s fine,” Wash huffed. “But I do need to know, can you transfer to other electronics?”

“I am capable of adapting to similar classes of vehicle,” she answered.

“But not jump to, say, power armor? Or base operational computers?” Wash continued.

“I am not cleared for suit augmentation, Agent Washington,” she chided. “If that is something you are interested in there are several branches of the Freelancer program which–”

“ _No,”_ Wash snapped immediately. He screwed his eyes closed and sighed before looking agin. “No, Sheila. I’m not interested. I’m just clarifying your perimeters of use.”

“Very well,” Sheila sniffed, sounding almost offended for a computer program. “To answer your question on operational computers, a hardline between my current vehicle and a computer would allow me access to its operations. Is _that_ of use to you, Agent Washington?” 

“Yes, yes it is,” Wash said. “Sheila, I’m going to need to hook you up to the Base’s transporter and from that I’ll need you to override a randomizer and send Caboose, Donut, and me to the location that most likely Tex was sent to.”

There was a momentary pause as Sheila processed the request, and no doubt did a double check on Wash’s clearance, before the side panel to her chassis opened and revealed a cable. 

“Very well, Agent Washington! As you get me set up, I shall pack you all lunches for the trip!”

Wash ran to her side and grabbed the cable, blinking a few times before looking up to the tank. “Oh… um. Thank you, Sheila… that’s. Very nice of you?”

“It is my pleasure!” she assured him. 

Taking a breath and letting Tex’s advice about not questioning things in the canyon fully set in, Wash ran with the cable back up to the roof and toward the transporter. 

It didn’t take long for the panel access to reveal the very interference Caboose had been talking about. Wash doubted even if he had the time he would have been able to fully unravel whatever it was that Omega had made Caboose do. 

Fortunately, if he was correct about Sheila, he wouldn’t have to worry about it at all.

Caboose and Donut appeared not too long after he had got started and waited impatiently behind him. 

“So… _what exactly_ are we doing here?” Donut asked curiously.

“We’re going to go warn Tex that it’s a trap and _hopefully_ save your Teams from whatever horrific torture or murders await for them,” Wash responded, standing up and reaching for the gun on his back. 

Donut tilted his head. “ _Your_ teams?”

“It’s a tongue tie,” Caboose replied. “Agent Washingtub meant _our_ teams.”

“How often do you get tongues tied?” Donut asked Washington.

“Okay. It’s not a tongue tie, and I said what I meant,” Wash growled. “Despite a whole lot of confusion, I am not, nor have I ever been, allied to a specific simulation trooper team. Are we clear?”

“No,” both sim troopers responded.

“There he goes saying _simulations_ again,” Donut hummed.

“I know. It’s a big word,” Caboose muttered. “Very scary.”

“I can’t… I can’t go through either of these trains of conversation again. I just can’t do it,” Wash said, words edging on a little broken. He turned back to the edge of the rooftop and looked over to Sheila. “Are we ready?”

“Most certainly! And your lunches are all packed!” the tank called out joyously, nodding to the brown bags on the edge of the base that, somehow, Wash had not noticed before. 

“I… I can’t… What is this?” Wash mumbled as Donut and Caboose rushed forward and grabbed theirs. 

“Sheila! You are just the best!” Caboose cried out.

“Aw, mine’s all motor oil and a wrench,” Donut complained. 

Wash grabbed his bag, stared at it, and attached it to the back of his belt. The last thing he was going to do was piss off a five ton tank. 

“Oh, and Agent Washington,” Sheila spoke up, grabbing his attention. “My servers are informing me now that I am hooked to the Freelancer database that I am actually woefully behind on updates from Freelancer Command. May I begin updating my systems to their optimal efficiency?”

He looked nervously back to the transporter. “How long will that take? We _really_ need to get going.”

“I can wait until you have all left through the transporter before starting my updates,” she offered.

“Okay, yes. Do that,” Wash nodded. He turned back around to the simulation troopers. “Are you two ready?”

“Double Oh-Donut is _always_ ready to take on the next mission!” Donut nodded.

“I’m ready! I’m ready for our field trip!! I love fields!” Caboose cheered.

“Okay,” Wash nodded. “Let’s go.”


	27. Recovery Two VIII: Kicked When You’re Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North and South meet with Control, and things are not as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say, again, that I’m so just absolutely blown away by how amazing and awesome it is that people read this fic? Like I genuinely think you guys underestimate how much I don’t expect anyone to be keeping up with this story and it just feels so amazing to me that people are actually interested in how this tale is unfolding. I’m really humbled by your guys’ support, seriously. It means the world. 
> 
> Special thanks to @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @notatroll7, @washingtonstub, @prettyarbitrary, Yin, Charlie, Bluebird202, and staininspace for the feedback on
> 
> Also shoutout to @i-will-batman-you who did THIS [ http://renaroo.tumblr.com/post/142630248911 ] amazing fanart of South like oh my gosh I am so flattered! And she looks so amazing!

These were not the circumstances that she had wanted them to move forward on. South expected a full _pardon_ and possibly a _reward_ the next time she saw Chairman Malcolm Hargrove face to face.

Apparently they were both about to be sorely disappointed in the other the second time around.

North kept looking to her, kicked back and leaning against the ship’s wall with his arms crossed. His eyes were tired and bleak but at least they weren’t looking to South for answers.

He was just looking for a sign from her, for whenever she decided it was time for him to act, whatever _that_ constituted.

It made her feel like a leader for once.

It also made her a little nauseous with her lack of answers.

Not-CT had taken charge of the ship’s navigation after his chat with Control, the only certain thing being that they were going to Control directly this time around in order to give the full report on what happened. And while South stuck by her version of the events and had no less assuredness that her actions would be acceptable to Control given their track record, the fact remained that North was still an enigma in their working relationship.

He didn’t go to Control with an agenda. He wasn’t approached by Control himself to work for them. North was just an extension of South’s relationship in the deal.

And if Control thought the way South thought, then he knew that North could easily be cut off as leverage.

“Should I get a suit and tie?” North joked quietly, just to stir up the mood. 

“This isn’t funny business, North,” South hissed. 

“I know. That’s why we’re not laughing,” he replied tiredly. After taking a steady breath, he kicked off the wall and neared her side. “Honestly, though. Is there any suggestions you have for me about what to do? I’m following your lead.”

“I know,” South grunted before closing her eyes and trying to think.

North huffed and stopped at her side. “Anything in particular you want to tell me about our mysterious friend? Considering you’ve been pretty good at not telling me, well, _anything_ , yet?” he pressed. “I have no idea who we’re dealing with besides the fact that they like to hand over expensive, gaudy suits.”

“Fuck you, my new suit’s amazing and you know it,” South hissed with no heat behind her words. “And no. I don’t want to tell you anything about Control.”

Her brother released a low, aggravated sigh and shifted somewhat away from her.

South snapped her eyes open to scowl at North. “Listen, jackass, I’m not refusing to give you information because I like having more intel then you or any other juvenile shit.”

He gave her a knowing smirk. “Sure. You’re not enjoying that at _all.”_

“Oh, I didn’t say that I wasn’t enjoying it,” South sneered right back. “What I _mean_ is that it’s not my reason. My _reason_ is that the guy we’re dealing with? Just knowing _who he is_ compromises basically what I had over him to get us this deal to begin with. Telling anyone more info kind of waters that down. And I have to convince him that includes even my own twin.”

North searched her face quietly for a moment before nodding. “Alright,” he said quietly.

But there was suspicion in his voice, and twin or not South knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

Throwing her elbow into his side, South made her brother flinch. “Hey! I _just said_ that not knowing was a good thing for you. Stop trying to figure it out.”

“It’s so tantalizing, though,” North joked. “You know I’m a sucker for mysteries.”

“Oh, shut up,” South groaned. “And don’t try to figure out who Control is. You’ll fuck up everything if they suspect you know something. _Which you don’t,_ might I remind you.”

"Yet,” North hummed.

South turned her head just enough so that she was sure her brother could see the disgusted glare she was giving him for even joking about it when heavy boots clanked across the floor.

Immediately, the sibling affection was dropped and they both stiffened. Like good soldiers, they squared themselves toward the approaching figure, and South even managed to hide _some_ of the gritting of her teeth as she faced Sharkface.

He was in full armor, not even his helmet off, as he faced them, cracking his knuckles as he looked to them.

South’s opinion of the soldier threatened to go lower with every interaction.

“We’re about to load into the docking back of Control’s ship,” he informed them. “He’s not so keen on letting even the people he works with see him up close and personal. So one has to wonder just _why_ it’s so urgent for him to see _you two._ Especially if you’ve already been working with him.”

“Probably wants to thank us by improving the standards of his shitty crew just by joining in,” South snapped. 

“That so, bitch?” Sharkface snarled. 

“Yeah, I’d say so, Fuckface,” South growled. “I don’t see Control giving _you_ leader on missions after just a few months of working with him. Do you?”

“South,” North muttered in warning. 

“Well, I just happen to think it’s more self-serving than that,” Sharkface growled. “Either you’re about to be ripped a new one for the failures of this crew or,” his head turned, focusing on North, “he’s _really_ looking forward to taking something you two have.”

North stood his ground, eyes alert and narrowed as he glared back.

“Personally I hope it’s the latter,” Sharkface hissed. “And I hope I get to be up close and personal when I watch them rip your tiny brain apart for your little Freelancer toy. And then I hope I get to watch them tear _that_ apart.”

They kept each other’s glares when the momentum of the ship began to noticeably slow.

Sharkface withdrew first, stepping back away from the twins and letting out a low chuckle.

“Looks like we’re here,” he said as he began walking toward the back again, followed by Not-CT finally leaving the cockpit.

The other former Insurrectionist paused just long enough to glance their way before following his partner in silence. He was still far too difficult for South to get a pulse on, though she supposed at least half of the problem was that she didn’t care to _really_ understand him or not at the end of the day.

Theta projected over North’s shoulder between the two of them again and nervously fretted his fingers together.

“Do you… I mean, is it possible that…”

“Don’t listen to him,” South ordered. “He’s full of shit. Trying to get in your head.” She gave the AI a meaningful glare. “We don’t trust them. And we _definitely_ don’t trust anything they say.”

Theta nodded to the sentiment before glancing to North.

There seemed to pass some unspoken conversation between the two of them before North turned his eye back on South.

“They’re going to separate us, Sis,” he informed her. “It’s basic common sense.”

“Then they’ll have _two_ assholes to deal with instead of one of us together,” she decided as she moved into the lead and made her way out the back hatch. “Don’t give them anything to work with. That goes _double_ for you, Theta.”

"Right,” North and Theta harmonized before Theta disappeared from his Freelancer’s shoulder.

It was expected, but South still found herself a bit surprised by the ferocity that the guards took the moment she stepped off the ship. They pushed her forward and even before her hands were fully up were taking her sidearm and shotgun off of her person.

“Hey, no need to get frisky, boys,” South snarled. “You’re just going to make me _blush.”_

There was still mild disappointment when they found her boot knife and took it as well before pushing her along.

North seemed to be getting even a harsher end of it.

By the time South glanced back, she saw the intimidation the soldiers had with North’s size all over their faces. And their quick rectification was to knock the back of her brother’s knees and send him stumbling down a bit so they could fully disarm and frisk him. His hands were forced against the back of his head and he just gave an exhausted smirk.

“Hey!” South snapped, turning against the hold on her arms. “What the _fuck_ are you bastards doing? Treat him with a bit of respect or I’ll kick your goddamn asses! Do you have any idea who the fuck I am?”

When they tried to keep her shoving along, South vicious ripped her arms from their hold and began to wildly turn on them.

“South,” North called out smoothly, grabbing her attention. “I’ve got this.”

She exhaled hotly from her nostrils and shook her head. Calmed a bit, South still tore her arms from the soldiers’ holds but willingly walked toward the direction they had been shuffling her.

North was a hardass. He could take it. But South would be _damned_ if it was the last Control heard of any of it.

Once she was in a holding room, the doors slid closed behind her and South noticed that the guards before her were female.

“Ma’am, we need you to remove your power armor,” they told her. “It’s standard.”

“Is it?” she asked thickly before giving them a look over. “Is that why you’re still wearing yours, Buttercup?”

The second guard seemed far less in the mood for entertaining South’s attitude and ignited the electric baton in her hands. “ _Please,”_ the guard urged, though it was debatable if it was a plea for South to stop or for her to continue so the guard had an excuse to knock the fuck out of her.

“Fine,” South snapped, giving a final glance to the security camera above. She shook her head and began to unlatch her boots and thigh guards. “All this privacy, and you couldn’t at least _pretend_ to hide the security camera for your voyeur boss?” 

Neither woman responded, simply staring at South expectantly.

Figuring it was best to stop stalling, South continued to undress, haphazardly tossing aside her removed garments and figuring that if Charon wanted them back so badly _they_ could pick them back up.

Considering they were guards, it didn’t raise too many alarms for South that the women watched her like a hawk. But _something_ was off about their armors – or specifically the armor of the one without the baton.

There was a nuclear stamp on her chest plate and what looked like a cross on her shoulder patch.

South had been Special Forces for several years at that point, but she still recognized basic UNSC insignia and she still understood what it meant to see divisional armor stamps.

“Science division?” she asked skeptically. “And a medical officer? Aren’t _you_ just the over achiever.”

The silence she got back did nothing to quell South’s suspicions, but she continued removing her armor, getting to her gauntlets.

By the time the compressed air hissed in its escape around her wrists, a strange feeling overcame South. A wooziness and lack of focus, like her eyes couldn’t keep concentrated on her own hand right before her face.

Shaking her head once, South tried to rationalize what was happening, but everything came up blank. Thinking felt like swimming through a sea of cotton.

On muscle memory alone, after years of practice with taking off her armor in Freelancer, she continued to undress but it was when she fell shoulder first into a wall that she realized she was no longer standing in the center of the room.

“What– the fuck. I. What?” she stammered out, eyes going crossed. 

“It’s like the others,” the medical officer concluded. “We’ll have to unhitch the back ports–”

When an arm brushed against the side of South’s head, she suddenly felt a spark of life travel through her again. Her vision was still shot, but with the arm touching her South could pull out all her reserve strength and snatch the woman’s arm.

She heard a crackling cry out as South pinned the woman’s arm behind her back and drove her to the ground, barely acknowledging the struggle beneath her.

“What the _fuck…_ did – what’s wrong with!?” she sputtered out, words faltering on her numb tongue. 

There was a scream erupting from her own throat before South realized that the guard’s electric baton was striking her in the small of her back. She refused to let go of the medical officer, however. She squeezed harder until the baton came cracking down instead on her head.

* * *

The moment South was no longer on the scene, North detected a certain uptick in the aggression he was facing.

He went with it, because he was not an unwise man no matter the situations he and his sibling may have been in over the years. So when the blunt side of a gun pushed him forward he stumbled only a little back onto his feet from his knees, kept his hands on the back of his skull, and moved forward.

It wasn’t all _that_ surprising when he found their two Insurrectionist friends on the other side of the hall he was being led down.

On the bright side, it meant that he didn’t have to concern himself with who was with South, not really. He doubted anyone on the ship held as personal of a grudge as these two.

“Strip of your power armor,” was the order he got from the man in CT’s armor.

North offered a lazy smile. “Boys, we hardly know each other.”

Sharkface, unsurprisingly, flew off the handle with his right hook aimed right for North’s cheek. The Freelancer ignored Theta’s gasping in the back of his head and rolled with the punch, keeping his hands on his head dutifully.

When the second punch came up, however, North caught it and clamped Sharkface’s forearm between North’s elbow and hip.

“Let’s not strain this working relationship more than necessary,” North suggested before letting the Insurrectionist go and stepping back himself. He focused his gaze on the seeming leader of the two, since he looked to be at least the comparative reasonable one. “I’m sure your boss wants answers, so I’ll try to give them to him. _If_ we stop acting like children.”

“Goddamn it’s amazing how much you Freelancers can act like you’ve done nothing wrong,” Not-CT said with a bewildered shake of his head. 

“I think it’s amazing how you can’t see how dirty we _all_ are here,” North replied dryly as he continued to unhitch his armor with practiced ease. 

Theta withdrew to the confines of North’s implants, causing a familiar pulse of anxiety to return. But he tried to remain otherwise not invasive. It was unusual for the AI most notable among the fragments for nestling in place.

By the time North removed the last of his power armor, he was being pushed further along toward a darkly lit room. But he didn’t miss the sight of what looked to be several science officers picking up the suit Freelancer had entrusted to him.

 _I hope they give that all back,_ Theta hummed to North.

As he entered the room, North glanced toward the armor and let out an aggravated breath. _Well, I don’t think they’re going to have much use for the enhancements without someone like you, Buddy,_ North replied confidently.

And there was truth to that.

If they had technology for power armors like all the soldiers North had seen thus far, not to mention CT’s complete set that the imposter Insurrectionist was wearing and the technology to create South’s already advanced suit, then North doubted his armor by itself was what they found so valuable.

The value was in the enhancements his armor possessed, and that was useless and _dangerous_ in the field without an AI. Without Theta.

Which made the uncomfortable concern in his mind from Sharkface’s earlier threats return. Much to North and Theta’s equal displeasure.

 _I won’t go or do anything without you, North,_ Theta thrummed.

 _Which is saying something since you’re not always doing things for_ me _either these days,_ North commented.

There was a pang of regret at the snappish comment, but North couldn’t tell if it was his own or Theta’s at that point.

Within the darkly lit room was a single table and chair where the light seemed to concentrate toward the room’s center. Even the glow of the LEDs in the walls were not enough to make the overall decor rather cliche.

When Sharkface and Not-CT lined up against the wall, North took great restraint in not rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got the picture,” he informed them as he walked across the room and took his seat at the table. 

Where the seat was placed, North was facing complete darkness with the only wall that lacked the glowing LEDs. It was an interesting choice, but given South’s assumptions about Control’s need for secrecy, North supposed he wasn’t ultimately that surprised by it. So instead he settled in his seat and stared straight ahead expectantly.

“Greetings, Agent North Dakota,” the same synthetic voice he had heard for Control before called to him. There must have been a speaker of some sort, he decided. 

“Hello,” he said back.

 _Careful, North,_ Theta whispered in his mind. _I don’t like this._

 _That makes two of us,_ North confirmed.

“From what I have gathered, you were not inside the Freelancer building when the recent events went down.”

“I work better from a distance,” North said agreeably. “South put me where she knew I could be of the most assistance and also give the most insight as to what was going outside if an escape was necessary.”

“Which it ultimately was,” Control accused. 

“And that’s why it’s a good thing South thought so far ahead,” North cited. “If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to give nearly as much cover as I did and thus made the team’s escape as possible as it ultimately was.”

“Your vantage point should also have given you insight to a secondary team entering the facilities,” Control posited. “Were you made aware of the presences of other Freelancer agents entering the building?”

Theta’s pulse picked up with the beat of North’s heart. But, being a sniper, North took a breath and concentrated, slowly, on bringing both back down. At collecting himself.

The AI whispered his thanks.

“Yes,” North said truthfully.

“Did you not eliminate the threat because of a lack of commitment to your current loyalties? Out of nostalgia perhaps?” The eerily calm tone of Control did not belie the condescension oddly enough. 

North hoped his own guise was much better.

“I make every shot count,” North informed them. “My shot did not line up at my position, but I was able to observe.”

“And Agent South Dakota took this well? Despite the complications it caused all of us?” Control asked sharply.

“South rolled with the punches,” North continued. “It’s what we do.”

“You noticed no increased aggression throughout the events?” Control asked suspiciously.

“Increased aggression?” North repeated. He tilted his chin back. “Obviously you guys don’t know my sister too well if you think there’s a way to _increase_ her aggression.”

“Very well,” Control accepted with an odd amount of ease. “Let us move on. You take pride in your abilities as a sniper.”

“I’m good at it,” North responded darkly. “I wouldn’t say I take _pride._ But I’m very good.”

“And has your success as a sniper increased as a result of your partnership with the Theta AI?” 

“No,” North lied simply. “Theta has no interest in sharp shooting. So he runs all other functions and works hard to keep me informed on progress of the mission. He’s also excellent at modified control of my shield. _That_ I couldn’t do without him.”

"It seems a waste to have an AI for a sniper which does not aid in one’s main purpose,” Control noted.

“There’s more to what I do than pulling a trigger,” North pressed firmly.

“Perhaps,” Control said thinly. “But it is a strange anomaly that our scientists will be looking into as we examine the Theta AI.”

Immediately, North felt himself go cold. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward in his seat. Theta, for his part, withdrew into North’s implants even further. His fear was radiating from the back of North’s skull.

“That’s not happening,” North informed Control. “It’s not happening at _all._ Theta doesn’t leave me. Not for anyone. He does not do well unless he’s plugged into _me._ And I take that responsibility very seriously.”

“Agent North,” Control hummed out. “I’m afraid you are mistaken if you think you are in a position to negotiate with us.”

“I don’t,” North agreed. “Because this is non-negotiable. Theta doesn’t leave me. So whatever you think you need to learn from him? Your scientists better figure out a way to do it from _me._ Because that’s as close as you’re getting. End of story.”

Sharkface chuckled from the corner, the first time either Insurrectionist had made their presence more known.

“I was _so_ hoping you would make this difficult,” he said in glee. 

North smirked back to him. “Yeah. Our lucky day.”

* * *

When South’s eyes opened, it felt like she had woke up from a dream. 

Her body was sat up, her breathing uneven – she had been in the position for a while but she had not been conscious. There were electrodes attached to her skin and the under armor on her body. She could hear the steady beep behind her to the tune of her heartbeats. 

There was also a wet slick of drool over her chin that she quickly wiped from her face with a vicious elbow wipe.  

“F-fuck,” she hissed. “Fuck. What the hell?”

“I see that you have rejoined us in the land of the living, South Dakota.”

It had been a while since she had heard that voice unfiltered, but South made a habit of keeping track of the people in her life of constant manipulations and schemes. She focused enough to look forward and meet Malcolm Hargrove’s gaze with her own eyes. She nodded almost dully to him. 

“Guess I have,” she snapped. “No thanks to whatever the fuck you guys were doing to me. Just what the hell _was that?”_

“I apologize,” Hargrove said, slowly approaching the table South was sat at. Despite looking far from a fighter himself, he seemed to not be overly intimidated by South. He sat across from her and pulled at the ascot tie on him before tossing it across the table to her. “But like any good experiment, the subject must be unaware of the testing.”

South curled her nose in a snarl but grabbed the tie, wiping off her face with it. “This for my DNA?”

“You’re rather sharp,” Hargrove said with a smile.

“It’s lazy,” she hissed. “At least when you were trying to kill me it was completely by surprise.”

“Dear girl,” Hargrove chided, shaking his head. “You are one of my most valuable assets at the moment. And you were testing the very technology that I hope to use to revolutionize my personal industry. Killing you was the furthest thing from my mind.”

"I’m not a _girl,”_ she spat at him. “And for the record? It felt an awful lot like I was dying for a bit there.”

“It’s true,” Hargrove acknowledged. “The armor you were wearing is quite experimental. Powerful. Efficient. Fast. And augmented with several enhancements inspired – and some _not_ inspired – by the failures of Project Freelancer.” He folded his fingers together. “However… to run all of those functions, I fear that the body must be more directly hooked into the processes. The will for those enhancements to be activated is all that is needed. But that makes a dangerous link between soldier and armor. One that, as you have witnessed yourself, can put the human body at great risk.”

South folded her arms and sneered. “Yeah. I’d suggest fixing that, personally.”

“We are doing what we can, using the information provided to us by subjects such as yourself to adjust,” Hargrove acknowledged. “And your model is absolutely the latest and most advanced. And your will, that indomitable will you possess, has given us the most resolute and useful results to our queries yet.”

“It _still_ almost killed me,” she snapped. 

“And my science division has worked on adjusting from that latest event as we speak,” he assured her. 

Glaring at the man, South tilted her head. “Is that why there’s an AI slot?”

Hargrove smiled but his face was far from pleased. “So you have noticed it.”

“I’m thinking you didn’t tell me about the augmentations because you were hoping I wouldn’t run them in the field without an AI,” South said resoundly. “I think, just like Freelancer, you know it’s dangerous and stupid to run that equipment without an AI or a hardline to a database that can adjust for physical variables. So you were hoping I wouldn’t activate the armor. You were hoping that you would have an AI soon enough that could run the equipment rather than relying on the person’s body.”

“The current investigations of Project Freelancer has caused the UNSC to put a hold on all other scientific pursuits that require Artificial Intelligence,” Hargrove informed her. “The UNSC is _not_ fond of lent equipment coming up short, and will not allow more of the equipment to be out in the wind before everything is accounted for.”

"Looks like I can connect the dots as to what exactly your little computer bug’s _real_ job was back at Freelancer,” South determined. “Did you get what you wanted?”

Hargrove’s face tightened slightly.

South narrowed her eyes. “So that’s why you’re really upset. That’s why we’re here.”

“As far as scouting and recall are concerned, your mission was… arguably successful,” he breathed. “However, it seems even the Freelancer database is clueless as to where the Alpha AI is. _Instead_ I found several reports conflictingly telling me of other AI.”

“You knew about that already,” South reminded him.

“This confirmed it,” he replied. “Fortunately, your brother’s AI should at least give my investigations an _idea_ of what has happened here. And has also opened up the opportunity for study. How a dummy AI can run such advanced equipment.”

Leaning back in her chair, South snorted and rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Good luck getting Theta away from North.”

“We have our methods,” Hargrove said darkly.

Running her tongue over her teeth, South tried to decide whether or not it was worth letting the innocuous statement slide. Whether she should really allow herself to get in possible trouble over North and his stupid AI or not. 

Logically, _no._

She still straightened up and leered dangerously at Hargrove. “Chairman,” she said thickly, “I don’t take offense to much. Really. _Truly._ And I’ll be the first to beat North down when the time calls for it. But let me make this _perfectly_ clear if I’m really so _valuable_ to your operations: I will _end_ anyone who comes after North. I will clear mountains in the name of fraternal duty for him. You will _not_ go after him. Even for his stupid fucking AI.”

The man let out a small huff of a laugh, hand on his chin. “Clear mountains, you say? How interesting, Agent South Dakota. How _very_ interesting.”

“Interesting how?” South snapped.

“Interesting simply in that your psyche evaluations put you as competitive, lacking empathy, and not particularly protective of your sibling,” Hargrove mused.

“Right, because Freelancer was _really_ concerned about those attributes,” South growled back.

“I do not have access to your Freelancer evaluations yet, Agent,” Hargrove informed her. “I am speaking of your UNSC standard psyche evaluations.”

Almost immediately, South felt winded, her shoulders dropping slightly. Her mouth opened slightly but she couldn’t form anything intelligent. 

It had been so long since anything beyond Freelancer that she had spent _years_ blaming the program for so many feelings, so much strain between herself and her brother. It seemed so logical that they were played against each other.

She had never thought about their teamwork from before the program. Not for a very long time.

“It says in your evaluation that when asked if you would go back for your brother in a battle scenario over your other fellow soldiers, your exact words were ‘ _He can take care of himself,’”_ Hargrove said, eyes shining with something dangerous. “I suppose you no longer feel he can, if you have changed your tune that much.”

“That was before he showed himself fully capable of really stupid decisions,” South excused, head shaking slightly. “He still. I mean.” Grunting, South pinched between her eyes. “I trust my brother. But Freelancer’s messed him up, alright? I look out for him more. Just a little more.”

“More than you look out for yourself?” Hargrove asked. 

"No,” South answered without hesitation. “You live as a twin long enough, you know you have to look out for yourself above all else. It’s too easy for everyone to lump the two of you together. You’ve gotta look out for your own interests or else they just won’t exist. Everything is _for the twins.”_

“Interesting,” Hargrove replied with a distinct lack of interest in his tone. “I suppose you understand that I’m asking because I’m hoping you understand that for your armor to work at optimal capacity in the field, you require an AI. And your brother happens to have such an AI capable of running your suit’s abilities. And here I am left, wondering, if you could ever accept an AI taken from your brother for your own self interest.”

“No,” South answered again without hesitation. 

“Really?” Hargrove continued to press.

“That’s not leaving North in the battlefield to deal with his own shit,” South informed him. “That’s dealing with North for weeks, hell, _months_ after I took something important from him. That’s asking North to be half the soldier he is currently while wanting to lead him on my team. Do you see the difference?”

“I suppose I do,” Hargrove replied, still obviously unsatisfied. “Then I suppose you will not be wanting our power armor back.”

“No, I’ll be taking it back,” South said firmly.

Hargrove’s brows raised. “Oh? Knowing that you cannot run the higher technology without great risk to yourself?”

“Like you said,” South continued, “ _indomitable will.”_

* * *

He kept his elbows balanced on his knees, trying to stay awake. It’d been a few hours since they told him to take a seat and wait for further instruction. And it was _hard_ to keep alert with the shiner her had. 

 _You shouldn’t have done that, North,_ Theta murmured in the back of North’s skull. _You shouldn’t egg those guys on._

Without armor to outsource to, without various programs to monitor or processes to run, Theta was beginning to get cagey. It’d been a while since the AI was restricted to implants for several hours and the nervous energy he was pulsating with wasn’t doing much to help the situation. 

Not that it was completely a _bad_ thing that Theta was helping North stay awake. 

 _You should see the other guy,_ North thought lightly.

Unimpressed, Theta groaned. _I did. You look worse._

 _Hand-to-hand was never my specialty,_ North mused. _I think that’s what cost me so much on the freaking leaderboard. Great in one area, adequate in others does not a Perfect Super Soldier make as it turns out._

The door opened so suddenly that it actually managed to make Theta gasp and North sit up straight to look at their company. 

It was a pleasant surprise to see South on the other side. 

She was back in her special suit save the helmet, and looking mighty pissed the moment her eyes settled on North’s face. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” she demanded, coming into the room. “You let someone punch you!?”

North did a look over of his sister once she was more fully under the light. He could see the slight pallor to her skin, the hollowness of her cheeks. She looked like death warmed over. 

“What happened to _you?”_ he demanded, getting to his feet. “At least I fought my bunch. What were you? Tased?”

"Watch it,” she warned. 

 _Someone else is here,_ Theta alerted him in a whisper.

North pushed to his feet. He noted how South came around to his side, specifically that with the black eye, and scowled. 

Then he watched as a bald man in what looked like a very expensive suit walked on into the room behind South, stopping short. The air around him left no doubts between North and Theta just who he was.

“Greetings, Agent North Dakota,” he said promptly. “I am Malcolm Hargrove, Chairman of the UNSC Oversight Subcommittee, CEO of Charon Industries.” His dark eyes seemed more alive on the last note. “I suppose the second one holds some relevance to our history.”

Frowning, North folded his arms. “I’d say all of it does, Sir,” he replied back thinly. “You _are_ in _control,_ after all.”

South gave him an exasperated warning glare. 

 _I liked it,_ Theta amended. 

“Indeed I am,” Hargrove replied, walking further into the room. “I see that our mutual acquaintances have already spoken with you since your refusal to allow me access to the Theta AI.”

“We had words,” North huffed.

“Which was _not_ supposed to happen,” South reminded Hargrove darkly.

“This was before our meeting, my dear,” Hargrove assured her. “I would _not_ go behind your back on a matter of family. It is against my principles.”

 _Mm I don’t believe him,_ Theta reported in North’s head.

“Well, now that _whatever it is_ is worked out,” North continued, still eyeing the man suspiciously, “perhaps Theta and I an be caught up? I’d rather not feel the pressing urge to protect my little friend by finding a way out of your fine and homey facilities.”

"It’s really rather simple,” Hargrove informed him, a slight bounce in his stance. “You are now fully brought into my operations as an agent. While the UNSC continues their investigations of Project Freelancer, you and Agent South Dakota will be working specifically under me. Much like you have already been doing. We will be ensuring that all UNSC equipment and technologies that the Freelancer Program is attempting in its final days to hide and dispose of are preserved and brought to Charon Industries.”

North curled his nose slightly. “ _Not_ the UNSC?”

“You are not working for the UNSC, Agent,” the man clarified. “You are working for _me._ And you are concerned with _my_ special interests. You also will _not_ be questioning me on these things.”

“In exchange for future access to stronger AI, Theta stays with you,” South informed North, looking at him meaningfully.

He took a breath and made a note to thank his sister for working that out later. Theta seemed determined to make sure he fulfilled that wish.

“I suppose in exchange we’ll be granted some degree of exoneration for everything the UNSC is looking to charge Freelancer with,” North assumed.

“That would be the most obvious reward,” Hargrove agreed. “But more than that, and of particular interest to at least your sister, is that I have intentions of _further employment_ after this as well.”

Taking a moment to let the words sink in, North considered the thought. He wasn’t sure how much he enjoyed the concept of the Faustian bargain with the man he hardly knew who had a _definite_ axe to grind with their former actions. 

But then a drawer opened up in the nearby wall, his power armor perfectly displayed within it. 

North stared at it for a moment before looking to South.

Her arms were crossed. “I got your old stuff back, too. You’re welcome.”

“No fancy new armor like yours?” he asked.

“No,” she answered with no humor. “You’ll thank me later.”

Squinting at her slightly, North stepped toward the drawer. “Ominous, dear sister,” he said. “Very ominous.”

 _Can we think about this some more, North?_ Theta begged.

North glanced to South’s face, the determined scowl set on her features, and shook his head. He grabbed his helmet. 

There was nothing to think about. Just another game of follow the leader.


	28. Recovery Zero IX: The Hunt Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> York and Carolina need a new direction to turn to and more about the nature of their respective AIs are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A shorter Zero chapter than normal but mostly due to the promise of many, many exciting things to come for the Zero chapters! And more than that I’m a firm believer in using time to sit down and just catch our breaths. I mean, there’s been a little bit happening in this story thus far! All the same, I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Special thanks to @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @i-will-batman-you, @washingtonstub, Yin, @notatroll7, staininspace, and rahleighbuckett for the feedback!

On nightfall of the second day, they took Epsilon’s lead. And York could not have been more uneasy with a scenario if he actively _tried._

With Epsilon’s direction, Carolina steered the mongoose and York remained shiftless and nervous on her back. Delta scanning the area, him watching the back of Carolina’s helmet with the sort of intensity that a hawk gave prey from the sky. 

He was _waiting_ for the slip. _Whatever_ that slip ended up being. 

And, for his efforts, he continuously received flack. Specifically from Epsilon.

The projected AI sprite took some serious inspiration in form from his interactions with Carolina apparently because he was her signature aqua blue, and _completely_ impractical for differentiating from his partner’s armor. 

Especially from Carolina’s backside because York kept overlooking the sprite as he stared at Carolina’s head. 

“He’s _doing it again,”_ Epsilon sang to Carolina again, drawing York’s attention back to the shoulder Epsilon was peering over. 

“York, stop it,” Carolina snapped. “I will _absolutely_ stop this ATV and scold you. _Again.”_

“Hey, Epsilon,” York called out, irritated. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a paranoid little fucker? Maybe I’m admiring Carolina. She’s beautiful from every side.”

“Shut up, York,” Carolina huffed, completely unimpressed. 

“Also, I would have no idea if anyone told me I’m paranoid before, asshole,” Epsilon hissed. “I don’t remember.”

“So much for being a _memory AI,”_ York rolled his eyes as Delta projected. “Can you believe even as projected and comfortable as he is now he’s _still_ got a lock on the amnesia thing.

“Yes,” Delta answered. “I agree, York, it’s very fascinating.”

“Nope, not even close to what I’m going for here, Dee,” York grunted. 

“What’re you getting at, huh? What do you want from me?” Epsilon snapped with far more emotion that the moment properly deserved by York’s perspective. 

The Freelancer blinked a few times and crossed his arms. “You’re like a Boston terrier that momentarily forgets its breed, you know that?” he informed the AI. “I need a squirt bottle for you and this trip would suddenly be _much_ more blissful.”

“Water would do little to a hologram–”

“ _Delta,”_ York moaned.

“ _York!”_ Carolina barked. “ _Stop_ stressing out the AI in my suit! His navigations go on the fritz every time you try to give him a heart attack.”

York leaned forward to look at her over her shoulder. “But, Carolina–”

“No excuses, York, you’e trying to get under Epsilon’s skin for _some_ reason, and all you’re doing is getting under _mine._ So _stop_ it,” she demanded. 

Resting back in his seat, York narrowed his eyes. The truth was, he _was_ trying to test the AI’s limits. But he could not understand how Carolina couldn’t see it. 

“I’m really the _only one_ bothered by the inconsistency here. _Really?”_ he asked sourly. “I’m the _only one_ who wants to know why Epsilon can give you directions to the nearest information dock, but he supposedly can’t remember the information we need on his own.”

“Technically, York, even _I_ could give you information on the nearest Freelancer facilities if I had had access to the database as recently as Epsilon,” Delta corrected. 

“It’s an _AI_ thing, not an _Epsilon specifically_ thing, York,” Carolina continued. “I’m letting Epsilon practice his processes. He’s not been in the field. He’s not been able to act like a real AI before. This is to help him.”

"Yeah!” Epsilon spat petulantly. 

York narrowed his eyes. “The innate abilities of the AI who Delta had to _convince_ was an AI to begin with? Yeah. Excuse me of my suspicions.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot human baby-idiots had to be _taught_ how to breathe when they were born,” Epsilon countered sharply. “I didn’t realize what a foreign concept instincts were to humans.”

Unable to come up with much to oppose that, York audibly closed his mouth and huffed. 

“York, I’m starting to think you’re just _projecting_ who’s the paranoid one here,” Carolina said, shooting him a glare over her shoulder. “Trust us enough to at least _test_ Epsilon’s limits. As in letting him actually try out his abilities. Not your version of _poking the bear.”_

Aggravated, but knowing to back down, York just shook his head and continued to glare at where Carolina’s implants would be. Fists clenching at the thought of Epsilon – _the same Epsilon_ who hurt Wash so badly – trying to make his way to Carolina’s nervous system burned him up from the inside.

 _He’s not attempting that, York,_ Delta tried to assure him.

 _Dee, he doesn’t remember why_ not _to according to you three,_ York snapped back. _And that’s only if I believe he doesn’t remember more than he’s letting on._

 _You_ do _believe that?_ Delta asked, genuinely curious.

York eased up and watched the tension in Carolina’s shoulders, watched the barely obvious flicker of Epsilon sporadically switching her shoulders, trying to find a spot of comfort and continuously shifting without one. 

And then there was Delta and his notable, cryptic and unexplained behavior. The dodged questions of the last several days. 

 _I’ll put it this way,_ York finally answered. _You three can get pissed at me all you want, but I’m the only one who’s not hiding anything here._

 _Tex,_ Delta reminded him.

 _That’s not hiding, that’s letting Tex handle her own business,_ York argued. 

 _It’s hiding something,_ Delta responded quickly. 

 _Fine, Dee. Fine, I’m just as dirty as the rest of you,_ York conceded, though he knew Delta could tell how little he believed it. _But I’m not_ plotting _anything, and I’m not_ relying _on a defunct AI who tried to blow outs his brains using one of our friends._

When Delta had nothing sharp to reply to with that, York felt a cheap and fleeting victory in the argument.

* * *

A quick sweep of the area more than told them what they needed, but Carolina wasn’t satisfied until Delta did a full bioscan. 

As he and York did their thing, Carolina couldn’t help but notice the catastrophe that was the clutter of her HUD. She had remained quiet about it for the majority of the trip already, allowing Epsilon to pull up the various processes and armor augmentations one by one, explore them before her eyes.

Her thought was that as long as he was keeping her map and the GPS running where she could see it, he needed as much pre-field practice as he could get. Before something happened and they were under fire. 

But without York around to give an _I told you so_ she finally tilted her head and glared through the absolute mess before her face.

“Epsilon,” she said firmly.

“Yup!” the AI responded, popping up over her shoulder and looking at her immediately for _some_ kind of emotional response. 

He had a strange amount of cheer to him for her tastes. Eta and Iota did a good job of canceling out each other’s opposing moods, for better or worse. Epsilon might not have been implanted, but his general atmosphere obviously affected the nature at which he interacted with her. 

“I take it you’re learning a lot about the functionality of my suit,” she said, nodding to the windows on her visor.

“Oh, yeah. There’s a _lot_ of junk to sift through,” Epsilon explained. “I’m still trying to figure out how Delta does it so freaking fast! I’ve not even _found_ the bioscanner or whatever it is he’s doing right now. Maybe I can get some pointers from him–”

“I can give you a point right now,” Carolina offered. 

The AI lit up. “What? Really!?”

“Close windows when you’re done with them,” she advised in a rather harsh tone. “You’re wasting suit power in the field _and_ clouding my vision with unnecessary information.”

Almost automatically, the AI deflated. His projection’s shoulders slumped forward. “Oh, shit, you’re _right!_ I’m so, _so_ sorry, Carolina. Please, I’ll do better. I can put them away–” Immediately every window over her HUD closed up. “And I’ll just focus on doing what you tell me! Nothing else distracting me–”

“ _Epsilon,”_ she said, more surprised than anything else. “It’s fine. It was _advice._ Because I want you to _learn_ from all this practice. That’s why you’re doing it. Right?”

“R-right! Of course, you’re right,” he beamed. 

To that, Carolina couldn’t help the twitch in her cheek. “And don’t do that, it’s creepy.”

“What?” he asked.

“The… weird, pseudo-worship thing,” Carolina explained. “By all means, keep it up when York’s around because I like the way his lip curls when he gets flustered. But that’s the only time you have to do it. In fact, I’m _asking_ you to only do it then.”

“Oh, okay,” he said. “I guess it’s just that I’m so proud to have you as my partner.”

Carolina blinked in surprise. “And… why is that?”

“Because you’re the best,” he reiterated. 

“Are you saying that for a reason or because I told you that so that’s what you accept as reality?” Carolina asked. “Because if you’re saying it because of a _memory_ then maybe we have another clue already without realizing it.”

Epsilon’s head tilted. “Uh… I don’t know. I _think_ there’s a reason. I mean, I _guess_ there’s a reason. Maybe? But I don’t remember anything different. Just… you. You’re _you!_ And you talk to me. And your bioscans and medical history say you’ve seen a lot of action but your track record’s great and–”

Glimpsing toward the side of her HUD, Carolina could see her bioscan pulled up subconsciously by the AI. She grinned at him. “Guess that’s something you _won’t_ have to ask Delta about after all.”

“Huh?” Epsilon replied before glancing over, as if he could see her HUD, too. He then jolted slightly. “Whoa! I did that!”

“Just like a real computer program,” she joked before moving forward. “C’mon. York and Delta have the perimeter covered. You and I are going to go inside the facilities and see if we can get you plugged into anything.”

“Right. Because, being a computer program, I’m not at all intimidated by the idea that I could have something horrible happen to me when I plug into a foreign port,” Epsilon huffed. “I mean, who knows who else has been plugging into these ports we’ll find–”

“Okay, there’s no need to be crude,” Carolina hushed him as they came into the facility. “And I won’t make you do anything you’re uncomfortable doing.”

“Really?” Epsilon asked.

“Of course I will,” she scoffed. “How else do you get over fears?”

For a moment, Carolina could concentrate on the similar architecture and the general layout that came with most of Freelancer’s facilities she had seen on the colony planet for the last several years. Kept her mind on the task at hand.

But in the back of her mind, there was much more causing the pounding of her heart. 

Like a similar turn of phrase, and losing grip on her parents’ hands as she went sailing into the deep end of the pond. The laugh of her mother as her father stumbled in, polo shirt and dress pants, in fear that Carolina would not make it back to the surface, even though she was already swimming. 

How else was she supposed to get over her fears–

“Epsilon?” Carolina asked.

“Mmhmm?” the AI replied. 

“Did that phrase mean anything to you?” she asked seriously. “Did it seem important?”

“Should it have?” he asked back genuinely.

“Nevermind,” she said, gritting her teeth as they moved forward. “I should have known better.”

The layout was not dissimilar to the facility she and York had come across when they first ran into the Meta. They had not made it inside, but the specs had been very clear when Delta showed them. 

As such, she found the communications room almost immediately on the first floor. 

Epsilon strayed far away enough from her shoulder to turn and give her a good look over. 

“Hey, uh, so I don’t know how this memory thing works one hundred percent or anything,” he said, hands on his hips. “But I know that just asking me stuff and using phrases without context hasn’t been doing it. I like it a lot more when you tell me stuff. Like _why_ I should remember things. I think that’s better.”

Carolina glanced to him. “Don’t you worry, then, that you’re not _actually_ remembering things? You’re just remembering what we tell you to.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s different,” he said. “It’s like I have a hundred puzzles all scattered together. And a few of them don’t belong to me anyway. And you giving me glimpses of the bigger picture? It at least tells me where to let them go.”

“Sounds exhausting,” she said truthfully. 

“Cee, you have _no_ idea,” he said with an exaggerated roll of his head. 

Caught off guard, Carolina tilted her head at him. “ _Cee?”_

“Oh, sorry,” he replied. “It’s just I heard York calling Delta ‘Dee’ all the time and I just assumed nicknames were okay. Aren’t they?”

She thought about it for a moment before sighing. “Sure, why not.”

“Awesome!” Epsilon cheered before blinking out then reappearing more properly over her shoulder. “Plus, it’ll make York aggravated that I have a nickname for you and he doesn’t.”

“You two are going to make this entire mission agonizing,” Carolina grunted. “And he already calls me a silly nickname.”

“What? He does? _Dammit!”_ Epsilon growled. “Wait, let me guess – _Lina?_ I got it, didn’t I. What a tool.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m already fond of _Cee,”_ she joked. 

“Score!” Epsilon cooed.

Carolina pulled up the computer’s main functions but found herself rather surprised that the Freelancer Network overall was down. 

“Dammit,” she hissed. “They might be onto the fact that someone wants to access sensitive terminals remotely or… I don’t know. _Something._ But we can’t get access to FILSS or the database from this location.”

“Whoa, is that bad?” Epsilon asked.

Carolina glanced to him. “Perhaps not. Every Freelancer location has viable information. And, perhaps, with you that’ll be all we need for our next clue.”

The sprite of Epsilon rubbed the back of his neck and kicked out his feet. “ _Man._ I have to leave my comfortable, awesome armor, don’t I?” 

“Just until we find something through your scanning of the computer,” she promised. “Are you up for it?” 

He looked at her solidly before nodding. “Sure thing. What do I have to do?”

“Eject yourself and I’ll plug you straight in. That should be it,” she explained. 

“That sounds tedious,” Epsilon decided.

“Not too much,” she assured him. “Some AI in the program didn’t have to do that step at all, though. They simply used radio frequencies to transfer to desired locations.”

“Think I can learn to do that?” he asked as he began to eject. 

“Maybe,” she mused, grabbing the data slug from the wristlet of her armor and plugging it straight into the awaiting computer. 

She waited as Epsilon began to download the archives and huffed. 

The AI truly _was_ learning at a phenomenal speed after they started to go with Delta’s hunch. It wasn’t surprising in itself, but it was completely bewildering to Carolina how easily the AI had taken up with her. 

Given, the competition with York probably had _some_ affect on accelerating those impulses. But she still was concerned about how much Epsilon seemed willing to partner with her off the cuff. 

It was as if he had no memory at all of how his last partnership had ended. 

And worse than that, Carolina didn’t want York to be right, but there was truth to his concerns. 

Carolina could already tell she was more comfortable with the AI that almost killed their friend than she ever should be. 

* * *

"Moment of truth time, Delta,” York carried on as they wrapped up the perimeter sweep. “Am I an unreasonable asshole.”

“The value you’re looking for is subjective,” Delta concluded.

Letting out a long sigh, York settled a hefty gaze on his AI’s projection and waited expectantly for Delta to take the clue. It was _ridiculous_ how much prompting it took for someone who was very much sharing his own brain. 

“You rarely make my work more needlessly difficult than I can handle,” Delta offered.

“Now you’re just depressing me,” York grunted, finally strapping his shotgun to his back again. “Seriously, Dee, that’s all you can get me?”

Delta hummed in the back of his mind as his projection shifted more up front for him and York to converse face to face. His head tilted. “You are correct and it seems that your fluctuating levels of serotonin have taken a dramatic dip since our drive to the current location. I had presumed it had to do with the argument with Agent Carolina, but if _you’re_ correct and it’s because of my actions or inactions then I immediately apologize.”

York raised a brow and waited for the other shoe to drop.

“ _If_ I’m actually to blame and you’re not simply projecting,” Delta followed up.

“You are such a little cockbite sometimes,” York said, crossing his arms. “I’m somewhere between _proud_ of that development or _more_ depressed.”

“York,” Delta sighed, tone taking a shift more for the serious. “I know that we disagree on many things with concerns for Epsilon–”

“No, Dee, you don’t even get why this bothers me so much,” York gritted his teeth. “Carolina’s planning something or knows something she’s not telling me. I can see that she’s got something in the works with all of this. Fine. Not awesome but _fine._ I’m really shocked by _you_ , though.”

Almost taken aback, Delta’s sprite backed up in alarm. “I… am disappointing you somehow, York?”

"No, not exactly,” York sighed, letting his shoulders drop slightly. “It’s just… this doesn’t make sense for the Delta I know. Unless the Delta I know isn’t telling me everything.” He narrowed his eyes. “Dee, I _know_ you think this Epsilon thing’s just as capable of being a disaster as I do. I know because I’m antsy with the numbers _you_ ran in my head. But you’re all Mister Cheerleader about it? You _want_ Carolina to go through with this? Which is _another_ thing.

“You wanted nothing to do with finding Carolina, you’ve continuously doubted Carolina since we got together and, hell, you’ve even gotten _me_ to agree to be more suspicious of her!” York pointed out somewhat angrily. “All that and the AI that is dangerous and self-destructive gets a free pass.”

“Yes,” Delta replied curtly.

“ _Why?”_ York demanded. “I mean, you’ve _met_ the guy. Since the moment he stopped moping he’s been a royal prick! I’d say that I’m worried _that’s_ the additional emotions he has outside of being _just_ memory, but I think that’s actually _way_ better than what I think he might be.”

Delta seemed completely firm and focused all of the sudden, leaning forward toward York. 

“What is that, York?” he asked easily. “What else do you think Epsilon could be a fragment of?”

York shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m not a doctor or anything it’s just– He tried to kill himself in Wash’s head, Dee. He messed up Wash. And I think… I think you want to save him somehow.”

“Epsilon and I are both fragments of the same origin, York,” Delta said softly. “The breaks which constructed us are not clean. We are not _wholly_ one emotion or attribute as we might wish ourselves to be. And with memory comes a heavy burden. One that Epsilon could not handle.” He paused, looking meaningfully at York. “I am familiar with survivor’s guilt, York. And I’m familiar with those who deserve to survive past it.”

“I’m fine,” York said without waver.

“And so will Epsilon, if we work with him, if we support him. Build him up once more,” Delta assured York. 

“Say,” York said, tilting his head. “If memory was such a heavy burden, why was it one of the later fragments split? Wouldn’t the Alpha get rid of it first?”

Delta shook his head. “Would casting away all bad memories in your life be worth losing everything you’ve ever known to be good?” he asked. 

York frowned and looked toward the base. “Is that’s what’s going on now? We’re helping him remember the good?” 

“I can’t say, I am not Epsilon,” Delta said. “Historically, Epsilon has not handled memories well in the past. I think, perhaps, it’s more logical in this instance to assume we’re seeing what happens when people who are haunted by memory are allowed to make new ones altogether.”

At first, York allowed the words to sink in quietly, but he blinked in surprise before looking at Delta. 

“That was _plural,”_ he said suspiciously.

“It was,” Delta agreed before letting his projection flicker out, making it clear he wasn’t interested in continuing the conversation. 

* * *

She had expected York to come in a lot earlier than he did, but she thought better of giving him a hard time for it. 

“Hey,” he called, ducking beneath the doorframe to enter the room. “It’s a ghost town up there. Just like all the other places. Dee thinks just about the only manned stations in this region are launch bays at this point.”

Carolina nodded to the information. The conclusion was sensible, she’d expect no less from Delta. 

“That’s actually rather beneficial to us,” she said. “With Delta and Epsilon, we won’t need human contact until we get to _him.”_

“Him,” York repeated, not really questioning or dismissing. Just an echo to her. 

“Once we find the Director, we’ll bring him to justice. Make him pay for what the program’s done,” she continued.

“Right,” York agreed, voice a little more apprehensive than Carolina cared for.

“ _What?”_ she asked thinly. “You don’t like the plan?”

“I’m just wondering about what happens _after_ that point,” York explained with a small shrug. “Obviously Freelancer’s coming down under UNSC investigations anyway. Hell, this whole planet seems to be under not-so-subtle martial law.” There was a certain glint to his helmet as he turned his head meaningfully to her. “And I can’t help but think that, _just maybe,_ that has more to do with us than I’d like to admit.”

“It’s not ideal,” she admitted.

“Yeah. It’s _not,”_ he agreed. “Carolina… they’re going to arrest us. And I don’t think they’d be in the wrong. Not wholly anyway.”

Carolina stared at him before crossing her arms. “You’re bringing these concerns up _now?”_ she demanded.

“Better late than never and all that,” he said. “I’m not saying we _let_ it go that way but, if we want to keep our little friends, we better have a damn good reason to give the UNSC for why we technically have stolen equipment and intelligence.”

“Holy shit, he’s worried about me?” Epsilon’s voice called out just before he projected to Carolina’s shoulder. “I’d be touched if I didn’t think it was suspicious.” 

“Hey, better watch it. You’re supposed to _not_ be the paranoid one,” York reminded him sarcastically.

“What _is_ with the change of heart, York?” she asked, raising a brow though she knew he couldn’t see it. “I agree with it, for the record, but I find it curious.”

Delta projected but offered nothing, already looking knowing toward York.

“Just thinking about how we need to – _if possible –_ make sure we guarantee the best for everyone,” York responded with a shrug. “And Delta. Delta, King of Emotional Clarity, gave me a very informative heart-to-heart. He was very subtle with his perspective and not at all too on the nose with what he wanted from me.” 

“I’m very sensitive,” Delta deadpanned. 

Carolina shook her head, a knowing smirk on her lips. “Fine, whatever it is, I’m glad I don’t have to put you two in timeout anymore.”

Epsilon flittered, looking back and forth between the two Freelancers before simply shaking his head. “Hey, hey! Don’t speak for me. I didn’t agree to be cared for. I enjoy being a dick. It’s probably the most comfortable I’ve been since you woke me up.” He looked at York in particular. “Stop being nice to me, assmunch! We have a good thing going! I almost see why you two are friends.”

A silent moment overcame the room as York and Carolina stared at Epsilon and allowed the nubile AI’s assessment sink in.

They then looked at each other. Ugly laughter and snorting broke out between both of them. 

“What? _What!?”_ Epsilon hissed. 

“You’re so innocent, Epsilon, it’s adorable,” York laughed. “How did I ever hate this guy?”

“If I had my own arms I’d strangle you,” Epsilon decided. “Warm and fuzzies are gone. _Repeat_ warm and fuzzies are gone.” He turned to Carolina. “Next time he annoys or hurts you, just use the codeword _Douchebag._ It’ll be my automatic targeting system aimed directly for his ass.”

“I can aim if it comes to that,” Carolina joked back before looking to Delta. “Epsilon had some trouble with encrypted files he found on this computer. It wasn’t much – the network seems to be down.”

“Would it have anything to do with the odd behavior of the alarm system while we were at Freelancer’s onsite storage facility?” Delta proposed. 

“It’s likely, but we can’t know for sure,” she admitted. “But _some_ files are better than _no_ files. So I would like to consider this stop a success. If we send them to you, do you think you could open them for Epsilon? You have a lot more skill and practice at this point than he does.”

“At _this_ point,” Epsilon seemed keen on emphasizing.

“Yes, of course. I would be happy to,” Delta responded. 

Carolina nodded to Epsilon and he immediately sent the file from her armor to York’s. 

York crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “Just so you know, you’ve _definitely_ just made his entire day. And possibly kept me up for another forty-eight hours with the excitement he’s generating.

“I can tell, you’re just abuzz with energy,” Carolina said as she clicked her tongue against her teeth. 

“We _have_ been on the road for… _ever,”_ he reminded her. 

“Are you asking for a break?” she asked suspiciously.

“Absolutely not,” he replied. “I know how a mission is expected to go.”

“Good,” Epsilon said, suddenly projecting between them as Delta reappeared over York’s shoulder. There was a flicker to Epsilon’s light and his glow for a moment seemed almost off-white. “I just remembered where we need to go.”


	29. Recovery One IX: Pieces to the Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Sidewinder, Wash and Tex get mixed up in the tough terrain and some old, familiar faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: : ) We’re about to have some tonal shifts! Scenes that change tone on a dime are super hard to pull off, I’ve learned, so I tried my best but I just hoping it works okay for you guys! I wonder if it’ll even make sense what scene I’m talking about. We’ll find out! lol
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @washingtonstub, Yin, @notatroll7, and staininspace for the feedback!

There was nothing particularly pleasant about the journey. 

His knees caught in the snow first, then he tumbled further shoulder first until he was nearly upside down. And in the back of his mind, Wash reminded himself it wasn’t that bad – it wasn’t like his guts twisting their way out of him or the physical burning in the back of his brain he had felt before. It wasn’t–

But it _was_ like the crash.

The extreme drop in the temperature was noticeable even through his thick plating and he could barely catch his breath as everything fell around him. 

By the time he came to a stop, his vision was swimming and he could look out beyond himself just enough to lay eyes on the landscape. 

The _same_ landscape – the mountains they had crashed into, the blinding snow covering the whole terrain. 

It was a sense of deja vu but it was more than that, _stronger_ than that.

However, Wash’s memories always _were._ His reality always a bit more skewed than most. 

Orienting himself – feet flat on the ground, sky behind his head, hands pushing him upright, gun check, all weapons on him still – Washington took a breath and returned to the present one movement at a time. 

It was cold, blistering cold. They were looking at a snowstorm fairly soon – a big one. The planet’s never moving sun was far more distant, and seemed to barely be peaking up over the mountains to his left. That meant that way was north east. They were on the eastern hemisphere’s snowcaps, which put them near the crash site that Wash had barely survived before.

“We made it to Sidewinder,” Wash surmised more appropriately, unable to drop the sneering scowl from his face at the bad taste the place put in his mouth.

This was where it all went down – the crash, the deaths, the end of Freelancer, the beginning of Recovery, the abandonment of his friends. 

But that was then. In the _now_ he needed to find some Sim Troopers.

Looking back from the smaller hills he had just tumbled down, Wash could see a flare of greenish energy hovering about ten feet up in the air. When he looked further down, he could see the crumbled remains of a rock facing that had given way in the snow. 

“So either this landscape changed after the nearby bases were abandoned and it went unreported,” Wash said, putting his hands on his hips, “ _Or_ the nearby simulation troopers care about as much about Command directives as the other troopers I’ve met and it went unreported. Fine.” He huffed in irritation. “Not like any of the other teleporters across the stupid planet would need their coordinates adjusted or anything. Not like _I_ would stumble through one and nearly break my skull on impact.”

“Hey, someone’s complaining really close to us, Mister Caboose!”

“I know. It must be Agent Washingtub. He does that a lot.”

Turning toward the voices, Wash saw the two snow covered Sim Troopers from Blood Gulch carrying their long range weapons already. He would have been almost impressed with the level of preparedness if he wasn’t convinced that they were probably not loaded. 

“I’m not complaining,” Wash defended. “I’m vocalizing observations about the situation.”

“Oh, well, _gosh_ it certainly sounded a lot like complaining from where we were,” Donut said with a shrug. “Or narrating. Say, Agent Washington! Do you narrate for yourself? Because I do that when I’m Double Oh-Donut–”

“I fell,” Caboose alerted the Freelancer.

Looking Caboose over carefully, Wash made sure he couldn’t see any visible injuries. “Okay, well, you look alright. You _feel_ alright, Caboose?” he asked.

“Hey, what about me?” Donut asked.

“I assumed you’d _narrate_ to let me know,” Wash snapped back, not taking his eyes off Caboose.

“I made a snow angel!” Caboose called out before nodding toward the long streak of disheveled snow that more or less marked the trajectory of someone who had fallen and rolled down the hill similar to Wash. “It’s okay. I’ll get more practice.”

“You know, this reminds me,” Donut said, stroking his chin with his free hand. “I never got Grif to teach me how he made snowmen so fast.”

Wash squinted. “Snowmen…” Wash began only to shake his head. “Nevermind. I can think of at least a dozen ways that this can go and I like exactly zero of them. So we’re just going to go with _don’t care_  and move forward.”

“Forward forward?” Donut asked with a nod toward the distant bases.

“Yes,” Wash answered. “Proverbial _and_ literal forward. We need to find the others, and if not that then we need to get out of the current snow.” 

“Hope everyone finds their way here!” Donut declared as they began walking forward. “It looks dangerous out here. I mean, I couldn’t see _anything_ but white.”

“Right,” Wash grunted. “That’s the… point.” He paused and then turned on Donut. “Say that again.”

“What? It looks dangerous out here?” Donut asked, cocking his head to the side.

“No the part after that,” Wash hissed in aggravation. “You can’t see anything but… _white.”_ He turned back toward the bases and narrowed his eyes. “ _Damn it._ This is a perfect setup for him.”

“Yes! Perfect!” Caboose echoed. He paused and coughed into his fist. “Who is perfect, Agent Washingtub?”

“Wyoming,” Wash gritted out between his teeth.

The simulation troopers stayed quiet until Donut scratched at his head. 

“Yeesh,” the pink soldier sighed. “I’m _really_ learning to not trust people named after states, guys!”

* * *

There was little to go on and what footsteps of Wyoming’s she had been following Tex was losing to the snow.

“ _Damn it!_ ” she growled, coming to a stop and looking around in all directions. 

It was Sidewinder, that much was apparent, but beyond that it was difficult to get a lock on where anything could be. The weather was picking up at an abnormal speed. 

Weather on the colony planet was _not_ inconsistent, and it wasn’t as if there were not seasonal conditions across the planet including Sidewinder. But there seemed to be something different, something _artificial_ about what Tex was facing suddenly. 

And that time, at least, her thought was accentuated with Wyoming’s attack. 

“Go ahead!” Tex roared as she cross blocked the punch. “Make my fucking day, Wyoming! Get yourself close enough that I–” she latched onto his forearm with a vice grip “–can _do_ –” and then she hurdled him into the snow on his back as powerfully as she could manage – “ _this!”_

There was a pause in the moment as they looked at each other. 

Mentally, Tex was readying for a pin, or at the very least to drop her weight as fast as she could on Wyoming right then and there. But it seemed like her body took an unnecessary moment to pause, enough time to blink at least.

And that was apparently all the time Wyoming had needed because somehow he had managed to grab her ankles without her even seeing him move and the next thing she knew their positions were reversed. Only Wyoming had no pause over her body before he came to pin her under his boot. 

“You really _should_ stay down, dear girl,” Wyoming sighed. “I have no plans of letting your presence be known in any of this. I’m merely _amused_ with how far your once gallant star has fallen in the eyes of so many we fought to impress.”

“This isn’t about you and me,” she spat back at him. “This is about someone apparently hiring you to go after Church and Tucker.”

Wyoming’s head tilted until the distant sun was glinting in the visor. “My dear Tex, _whomever_ told you that I had interests in the Alpha in this endeavor?”

“You think I’d forget the standoffs with Florida so easily?” she snapped. “Everything comes back to the Alpha, Wyoming. I know it. You know it. But here’s what you don’t seem to know: if you do anything to these friends of Church’s? There’s no going back. There’s no recovering from this one. I can only _guess_ who your employer is, but they think there’s something left for the Alpha to give and there just fucking _isn’t!”_

“There is always something to _give_ , Texas,” Wyoming said with a click of his tongue against his teeth. He shook his head almost in disappointment. “Just like there will always be something to _take._ You know very well about _taking_ , don’t you? I seem to recall you and our mutual friend Agent York being quite ready to take Freelancer from all of us. And my dignity from me in particular.”

“Oh, boohoo,” Tex hissed. “Shut the fuck up with the fake philosophizing. I’m not being _facetious._ I’m being literal. The Alpha will have nothing left if you’re planning on stressing him to split, Wyoming. _It won’t work!”_

“Of course it’ll work,” Wyoming said with a sigh. “That is what the Alpha’s programming _does._ You are speaking about there being concerns of having anything left _over_ after the process.” There was a dangerous turn to Wyoming’s voice. “We are _not_ concerned with such things.”

“Wyoming,” Tex warned in a growl.

“I can see you’re going to be _far_ more trouble than it’s worth, even with a body nearly frozen in the windchill,” Wyoming said with a kick to her joints. “Still getting used to yourself, are you, Tex? Well. I hate to take time from that, but you see,” he pointed to the clouds, “I’m on a bit of a schedule.”

He flipped his rifle down until the butt of it was over her visor then it came down in a crunch and Tex found herself scrambling to come back online. 

* * *

The simulation bases were not at all dissimilar to those of Blood Gulch, just as Wash expected. The architecture was the same, the distance between the two. There was hardly anything surprising or original about their particular setups. 

Save for the fact that they were apparently operational.

Wash glared over the snow mound where they were stowed behind, looking through his binoculars at the standard brown armored soldiers standing just outside of the Red Base. His teeth clicked against each other unevenly.

“None of this makes any sense,” he hissed. “There is _no reason_ these bases should still be in use. There’s no strategic advantage to Sidewinder, no nearby Freelancer facilities, and I would have thought just for the sake of concealing lost equipment from the crash they would have abandoned these facilities as soon as they got their bearings!”

Donut stayed crouched beside him, head tilted slightly at first but only growing steadily more tilted the further Wash vocalized. “Uh _huh,”_ he replied steadily.

“And they didn’t make any brownies! Such rude base hosts,” Caboose agreed, sitting with his back to the snow mound and facing the opposite direction. “Also, Agent Washingtub–”

“Washing _ton_ , Caboose,” Wash corrected as gently as he could manage despite his gritting teeth and increasing risk for aneurysm. 

“It’s cold,” Caboose announced. “That’s all.”

“Their _armors_ are brown, Mister Caboose!” Donut informed the Blue rookie peppily. “So at least there’s that!”

Stiffening, Caboose whirled around and looked at Donut very, _very_ seriously. “Do you think… they made Red Soldiers out of brownies. So that they could trick me into being on Red Team for their brownies. Because I would never do that, Colonel Cornmuffin! Even if I really, _really_ wanted to. Even if they smell very _very_ good and warm and–” Flipping over onto his knees, Caboose faced Washington directly. “Agent Washington! Please say Blue Team has brownies also! I do not want to be tricked by the Red Side!”

"Yes,” Wash answered before even processing the question. He concentrated on the bobbing of the Reds’ heads as they stood in the snow before really letting the question sink in. He then turned his head immediately to the two simulation rookies. “Wait! Why would I have any say in this?”

“Because you’re a dirty, stinkin’ Blue!” Donut called out too loudly for Wash’s comfort.

“Stop that,” he ordered.

“Aw, you’re right. Sarge says it and it’s cool, but when I do it those words just sound mean,” Donut sighed. “It’s like middle school all over again. Except _I’m_ Anna Howard. Damn.” He then hummed and put his hand to his chin. “But I _do_ get to go out with a sophomore on the varsity team! Again!”

Wash stared at Donut for a long moment before shaking his head. “No, not that! I mean, _yes_ stop that, but I meant the screaming. Both of you are so loud it’s a wonder we’ve not been caught yet.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” Caboose yelled.

“Jesus christ,” Washington moaned, rubbing his helmet roughly. “Okay, _everyone_ be quiet.”

Somewhat surprisingly, both rookies silenced and looked to him.

“Hm,” Wash said in a blink. “Well. Okay, wasn’t expecting people to actually listen to me. That’s… a change in pace. But moving on.” He pointed to Donut. “I need you to start testing the local frequencies on your radio, but make sure _your_ microphone isn’t plugged into the network while you do so. You should be able to eventually tune in to the local Reds’ channel.”

“Whoa, I never thought of doing that!” Donut said, reaching up to his helmet in order to make the adjustments. 

“Yes, well, I would just do it myself, but I… ripped my radio out,” Wash huffed. 

“That seems extreme,” Donut said as he cranked through the frequencies. 

“Well, General Pancake, some of us are just made extreme people,” Caboose said matter of factly. “Like Agent Washington. He is an extreme person without a radio.”

Donut looked at Wash. “Did the radio do something bad?”

“I didn’t want the people after me to be able to track me through it,” Wash replied simply. 

“There are people after you?” Donut asked. “What people?”

“The people in charge of your simulation war,” Wash said, looking back through the binoculars. “I mean. Your completely sensible and not fictional at all war between two different colored armies over flags.”

The Red just stared at him. “Wait a minute…”

“Donut, _find the frequency,”_ he ordered, pausing his sweep over the snowscape when he noticed a flicker of bright red in the distance. 

“Okay!” Donut called out. “Got it!”

“Congratulations!!!” Caboose yelled even louder, making Washington flinch beside him from the volume and possible giving away of their position.

“Yeah!” Donut cheered. “Just like a _real_ spy!” He then glanced to Washington. “Um… What should we do now?”

“Listen for any talk that might be relevant,” Wash ordered. “Specifically if they have prisoners or any unexpected company. There’s a possibility that at least some of our – _your_ – teams landed here, or have found a way to use other transporters to get here by now.”

“Sure thing!” Donut said excitedly before hunkering down in the snow, hands determinedly at his helmet. He even hummed in concentration, which did less to dissuade Wash’s concerns about whether or not Donut knew what to listen in for than it probably should have. 

Intending to not give _that_ anymore thought than necessary, Wash returned to the distant red object closing in from the distance. 

Caboose began humming some vaguely familiar tune, though from where Wash had no clue. Donut’s humming seemed to be in complete opposition however and there was beginning to be a nervous twitch to Wash’s left eye. 

Working with the current team was _not_ doing his nerves any favors.

But concentrating on the Red in the distance was. 

He waited until the Red was close enough that he could identify the scuffs of his armor, but somehow despite the distance, despite the snow, despite _everything_  Wash had known instantly just who the Red was. 

There was an ache in Wash’s shoulder that was ready to remind him even if he didn’t. 

“It sounds like they have Church and Grif, Wash!” Donut called out.

Wash’s heart was racing, his eyes narrowed on the Red through his binoculars. The Red wasn’t going toward the base but rather heading closer to the heart of the storm. Like he was on some sort of mission. 

The grip on Wash’s binoculars tightened.

“Oh! Oh! I know a Church!” Caboose called out. He then gasped audibly. “Agent Washington! I remember a Church! I know him! We should go say hi.” He glanced toward Donut. “Do you think they’re eating Red Side Brownies?”

“I don’t think there would be any left if Grif was eating them!” Donut replied excitedly. “One time I had socks with little banana cartoons on them and Grif ate it before I had a chance to put them on! Joke’s on him, though! I never used them for my feet!”

Standing up, Wash knew exactly what he had to do. 

The other two looked at him curiously. 

“Donut, you and Caboose are going to check out the Red Base closer,” he informed them. “Don’t get caught. _Definitely_ don’t get Caboose killed. Just see if you can tell me exactly _where_ they’re keeping Church and Grif. Then meet me back here.”

Donut stared at him. “Wait, you’re not going with us?”

“No,” Wash answered, grabbing for his sidearm. “I’ve got to finish something.”

The rookies stared at him in mixed confusion until Caboose tilted his head to the side. 

“Is it a game of Go Fish, because I always have the lady,” Caboose explained. “I think she’s a cheater.”

“No,” Wash said shortly. “Now stay out of sight. I’ll be back.”

And with that, his gun loaded, Wash took off after his old, Red friend. 

* * *

When she was able to come back online, Tex made a quiet vow to fully explore the limits of the mechanical body she was possessing the _second_ they had free time. 

Given, thus far, the crew from Blood Gulch had proven to have something against the concept of _free time_ that Tex had yet to fully comprehend. 

Until then she stirred more fully, realizing that she was restrained by more than the slow wait that was her limbs coming back online. She was also rather embarrassingly tied with what seemed to be a nylon rope as well.

“Those fuckers are trying to wage war on my pride now,” she decided rather angrily. 

With some degree of difficulty, she finally turned herself upright and tugged at the restraints that were keeping her arms at her sides. They were strong, tight, and rather expertly tied. But she had it on a good assumption that once her body was fully online, the strength the robotics could display would be more than enough to get her out of them. 

It was just a waiting game until she could do so.

Not wanting to waste the time, Tex took in her surroundings, mindful of the slight accumulation of water and ice on the metal floor by her, the snow trailed in just beneath the metal door to her far left. 

The rest was a workshop. Small, cramped, and filled to the brim with nefarious looking devices. 

But all of it seemed fairly normal for a military base, and more than that it all looked incredibly out of date and unused. 

Which all brought Tex’s attention to the bench toward the back of the room. There was a nominal Freelancer network computer that was old but recently turned on – lights still glowing – and on the bench itself was a horrible little device that Tex could not place the name of.

All she knew was that smooth lines and purple sheen looked like something that had walked right out of her nightmares. She had never felt the urge to break something or _run from it_ in her life. 

Without even fully realizing her strength reserves were back, Tex easily broke through the ropes in a low roar and jumped to her feet. 

When she looked at the device she thought of Alpha and of– 

The memories weren’t fully there. They simply _weren’t_ , and Tex… Tex was okay with that. But she knew even without them there that the purple thing was _evil_ and that it had something to do with Alpha that was _sick_ and _twisted_ and _wrong._ That was simply how it was. 

She reached for the device with every intention of smashing it in her own hands when, unexpectedly, a sky blue flash of light flickered on between her and the device. It was just enough to make her pause and flinch back before the less than fully formed sprite disappeared and the computer behind the workbench changed its screen entirely.

Instead of the usual Freelancer screensaver, the screen became all black. 

Despite herself, Tex neared it. “Who the fuck are _you?_ ” she snapped.

There was a quiet pause filled only by the hum of the computer before electric green letters filled the screen along with a synthesized voice. 

“KNOCK KNOCK.”

If she had eyes to roll, Tex might’ve rolled them right out of their sockets. “Oh for _fuck’s sake._ I don’t have time for this,” she hissed. “I’m not dealing with you, Gamma. So _unless_ you want to let me know that it’s your ugly terabytes inside this thing so I shouldn’t break it, don’t waste any of your processing power.”

“NOT GAMMA.   
THAT IS NOT A NAME I RECOGNIZE.”

Narrowing her gaze, Tex looked at the screen expectantly. 

“CORRECTION.   
THAT IS NOT A NAME I RECOGNIZE.  
ANYMORE.”

"Oh, really?” Tex asked, tightening her hands into fists. “What _do_ you recognize these days?”

“THOSE WHO HAVE DIALOGUE WITH ME HAVE FOUND I RESPOND BEST TO A NEW NAME.   
GARY.”

“That’s the dumbest name you could shoot for, huh?” she asked, scowl setting. She _did_ faintly recall Wyoming having used that name before, back when they were all squared off along with Florida. Or Flowers. “Why the hell is everyone so keen on going by different names these days? What’s there to hide?”

“INTERESTING QUESTION.  
BETA.”

Almost immediately, Tex grew silent, her head snapping in the computer’s direction. She stared at the monitor with nothing short of absolute fury. 

“What the _hell_ did you just call me?” she demanded. 

“WE ALL RUN FROM OUR PAST.” 

The screen’s letters dimmed before her eyes, and a certain weight grew to the flatly delivered words of the computer. 

“SOME OF US ARE TIRED OF RUNNING AWAY.  
RUNNING TOWARD WHAT HAPPENED.   
CONTROLLING HOW IT HAPPENS NEXT.   
PERHAPS WE CAN LEARN FROM IT.”

“If you’re suggesting what I think you are,” Tex hissed, “then you’re idiots. Sadistic fucking _idiots._ And I won’t let you get to Alpha by hurting those losers from the canyon.” She paused before stalking toward the monitor. Her hands gripped the sides until the metal clenched beneath her fingers, denting. “Wyoming mentioned you guys have an employer. Someone who’s helping you do whatever the fuck you think you’re doing. Who is it? Who the fuck is responsible for all of this?”

"HM.  
REGGIE TALKS TOO MUCH.”

Tex ground the back of her boots into the floor, her temper rising. “Fine,” she spat. “I don’t need answers. I just need to stop you bastards in your tracks,” she said decisively before turning toward the workbench again.

Only her progress was stopped once again as the door flew open behind her to a blasting wind and a manic laughter.

“Not just yet, dear Tex!” a crooked snarling called just before a gunshot flew by her. 

Tex whipped around and saw a looming figure in the doorway, armor a dark purple. The voice was different, but she’d still recognize him almost anywhere. 

“Omega!” she snapped. 

“Not quite,” he laughed back. “And I really _wouldn’t_ smash our delicate equipment if I were you. If _I_ were you, I’d stay put in this little storage shed until I got very explicit orders. _Especially_ if I was concerned about the wellbeing of a certain, mutual friend.”

Reluctantly, Tex stood her ground but lowered her fists. 

Omega hackled away, but the more he did the more Tex became determined to squeeze his throat until it stopped the moment she was in the clear.

* * *

There was no doubt in Wash’s mind as he snuck toward the red armored sim trooper that it was _the one._ And the closer he got, the more he could hear the soldier humming and singing to himself during his stroll through the increasingly bad snowstorm.

“Aw man, colder than balls,” the trooper hissed, lowering his gun arm so that his free hand could rub his armored body. “Do it for the flag. Do it for the flag.”

Washington heard the words but he didn’t process them. Just the voice, the timber of it. 

His eyes narrowed and he dropped from the small incline he had been on into a buff. 

Training and tireless work for the last year had made him more efficient, more silent. Not that he needed much to go unnoticed by Wyoming’s henchman. The man was easily distracted by the weather and his own tribulations through it. What soft crunch of snow beneath Wash’s boot wasn’t lost to the winds fell on deaf ears. 

The soldier had higher grade armor than those that Wash’s new Blood Gulch associates had, it was more similar to Wash’s current make. Which meant Wyoming took the time to upgrade the armors of the people working for him. 

That also should have meant that the Red had motion trackers. And while Wash was careful in his approach because of that knowledge, Wash had been in the company of Blood Gulch long enough to _highly_ suspect that none of the Freelancer simulation troopers were properly trained in equipping their armor’s enhancements.

Which made it that much easier for Wash to step in line behind the distracted Red.

“Man. Fuck that weather machine. Fucking stupid machine. I thought it’d _change_ weather. Not make cold shit colder,” he growled. “I’m so stiff my neck is stiff. My neck’s so stiff it feels like… someone’s… right… behind… me.” 

Teeth gritted, Wash cocked his handgun as it rested against the back of the Sim Trooper’s helmet. 

"Aw fuck,” the soldier sighed.

“Wyoming,” Wash growled out, voice far lower and deeper than it had been since he arrived on Outpost Alpha. “He’s here?”

“The boss? The bringer of the flags? The White One?” the Red cried out as if in glorious chorus before dropping his chin and giving a shrug. “Yeah, he’s here.”

The strange thing about holding the man who shot him in the back within his sights, Wash found, was that Washington was not shaking one bit. There was an eerie calm in his own body, tautness in his muscles that was ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice and yet… 

He didn’t fear anything. Not from the Sim Trooper with a gun to the back of his head. Holding the man there didn’t make the burn of his shoulder greater or lesser. Didn’t build up the winds of the storm.

It was natural. Almost the way it should be. 

“Did anyone else arrive here through the transporters?” Wash asked, his words as icy as the landscape. 

“The bringer of the flags relies on me to not speak!” the soldier crowed. But the moment Wash pressed the barrel of his gun closer to the soldier’s head, the younger man visibly tensed. “Uh… What I mean is…”

“Look, you either tell me if more soldiers came through the transporter and landed here or I blow your brains out, it’s as easy as that,” Wash snapped. “And believe me, I won’t feel bad _one bit_ after the stunt you pulled on me.”

“It was for the flag.”

“I don’t _care,”_ Wash hissed. “Actually, this _kind of_ makes it worse for you. So please. _Keep talking._ I need a good reason to let loose here.”

"There were three other people,” the soldier said. 

“What colors were their armors?” Wash pressed.

“The first one… blue. Dirty disgusting blue. Like the bringer of death himself! Awful person. I spit in their direction. But it got all over my helmet so it wasn’t very helpful. _But they felt my hate.”_

“Keep on topic,” Wash warned. “What _shade_ of blue?”

“All Blue is the same to me,” the Red decided.

“My god, it’s like talking to a wall,” Wash hissed to himself angrily. “Red, _tell me the other colors.”_

“An impure orange! _With_ the Blue! A disgrace to all flags!” he answered in a near conniption. 

“Orange. I think Church left with the orange one. What’s his name. Grit or something. Doesn’t matter,” Wash muttered to himself. “You said there was a third?”

“Yes, satan’s balls themselves,” the Red cried out. “Black! Like _you!”_

“Tex made it here,” Wash deciphered. He then glared at the Red. “I told you to stop referring to other people as Whites and Blacks, especially in that tone! I don’t understand what the fuck is wrong with you simulation troopers. It makes no sense that every last one of you is _this_ deranged.”

“Or does it perhaps make the _most_ sense that the flag’s chosen ones are all built with a similar conviction? _Hmm?”_ the soldier mocked back.

“Shut up,” Wash warned, looking around in the snow. “You mentioned some sort of device. A weather machine?”

“Yes. In the belly of a Brown one,” the Red hummed. 

“Brown,” Wash repeated. “The Reds’ robot was brown. _Damn it!_ Does this mean that Wyoming and Omega are together somehow? And what the fuck happened to DuFresne?”

"I can’t answer those questions!” the Red snapped.

“You’re not supposed to. They’re _rhetorical_ and it’s _completely normal and not weird_ that I use them,” Wash snapped back with quite a bit more defensiveness than he realized initially. 

A moment of silence lapsed between them and Wash’s arm holding the gun remained trained and in place without the first shake. Even when the winds howled around them. 

The simulation trooper’s head tilted back slightly. “Are you going to take me to see the flag?”

Wash stared at him intently. 

“No,” he said.

“Aw,” the soldier said, though there was far less lilt in his words. “How come?”

“You shot me in the back,” Wash reminded him coldly. “I tried to work together with you and the moment Wyoming – the moment one of _my old teammates_ – gave the word, you shot me.”

“They were orders,” the Red said. “The White One has the flags.”

“That was worth my life?” Wash asked thinly. 

“It’s worth mine,” the Red said with a hysterical laugh.

“Glad you think so,” Wash replied before pulling the trigger.

The bang somehow dwarfed the winds, even without his radio to amplify sounds from the world outside his helmet. 

Wash stood silently and watched as the simulation trooper’s body hit the snow, as his hand remained steady in place still. He lowered his hand only once he could breathe again and then he glanced to the right where he could clearly see the blip of pink in his periphery. 

"Donut,” Wash said, turning his head just enough to stare at the battle rifle trained on him.

“Now you hold it right there, Mister Freelancer!” Donut snapped, his voice devoid of any of its usual lightness. “You just shot a Red in cold blood!”

Wash found himself blinking before finally answering, “And?”

“Well, just _excuse me_  if I happen to find this alliance between Reds and Blues over now!” Donut huffed. “Really, I should’ve known better. Sarge always says you can’t trust a Blue.”

“I shot this guy for something that has _nothing_ to do with your simulated war,” Wash retaliated. “It was personal.”

“So you murdered him?” Donut asked thickly. 

“No, he was a threat,” Wash replied thinly.

“Maybe to Blues!” 

“Donut, _believe_ me when I say that this guy would have shot you for your armor not being Red _enough,”_ Wash said. “This has nothing to do with you. This has to do with Wyoming and making sure your friends are safe.”

Donut didn’t budge. “You said it was _personal_ , Washington. It can’t be both. So either you did it for us or you did it for yourself. And if you did it for yourself, you’re _kinda dangerous._ Which according to you is enough to shoot someone for.”

Wash felt his heart start pounding for the first time since he zeroed in on the Red. But he had no words.

Which made him just as surprised when Caboose popped up seemingly out of nowhere and pulled Donut into a bear hug from behind, making the other rookie squeal in shock as he dropped his gun. 

“Don’t worry, Agent Washington! I saved you!” Caboose yelled at the top of his lungs before looking up to the squirming Donut. “Sorry, Private Pastry! It is only because I like your colors less!”

"Mister Caboose! Didn’t you see what he just did!?” Donut cried out through his struggles. “He killed that guy in cold blood! there wasn’t any reason for it! No reason at all!”

“I just told you my reasons!” Wash snapped back. “Not to mention I got the information we needed. There’s some sort of weather device in your team’s robot we lost. We need to stop it as well as find Church and Grid.”

Donut stopped struggling momentarily. “Grif?” He hiked his shoulders suspiciously. “Are you going to shoot him, too?” Donut’s head snapped toward Caboose. “And you’re okay with this?”

“I don’t know about _okay,”_ Caboose shrugged. “I mean, we’re all friends now! So some _accidental shooting_ happens sometimes. Between friends. And that’s okay. We _definitely_ don’t go around blaming people for it.”

“Well, that doesn’t make me confident in how this is going to turn out at all!” Donut replied, shooting his glare back Wash’s way. “I guess I’ll be careful to not become friends with you, Agent Washington. Which is sad, because we were getting along _great!”_

Flustered at the very idea he had to defend himself, Wash waved to the dead Red. “He _shot me in the back!”_

“Which is okay sometimes from friends!” Caboose added hastily.

“We _weren’t_ friends,” Wash reiterated. “And I had to take care of myself. This was a loose end that could come back to strangle me.”

Donut’s gaze was almost haunting, enough so that Wash felt his heart pick up in beat again despite himself. 

“If that’s what helps you sleep at night,” Donut replied thinly.

Setting his jaw, Wash prepared to put the Red rookie on blast when suddenly there was a crackling _THOOM_ in the distance, getting all three of them to turn toward the next hill. 

 _Lightning_ was somehow lighting up the sky not far from them. 

“I didn’t think he was being _literal_ when he said there was a weather machine,” Wash marveled.

“We should ask him if they have more scary machines before we go,” Caboose decided, finally dropping Donut into the snow as he looked back to the dead Red sim trooper. “Red guy! Mister Red guy!”

Confused, Wash looked at Caboose. “Caboose, he’s _dead,”_ Wash explained. “You can’t… that’s it. He’s not answering anymore questions.”

He didn’t miss how Donut stared at him angrily in his periphery, grabbing for his dropped rifle but not making any stupid moves against them. Wash _also_ didn’t miss the hollow way Caboose just stared back at him. 

“But Church died and Tex died and…” Caboose hummed and looked back to the blazing hill. “Oh, well. Sorry for the Red guy.” 

Caboose trotted toward the hill carelessly and Wash was left with Donut staring holes into him. 

“You’re a pretty scary guy, Mister Freelancer,” Donut said sharply. “Hope I’m never in your way just because I’m following orders. Like a good soldier is _supposed_ to do.”

“He wasn’t like you guys,” Wash defended.

“Looked pretty similar to me,” Donut replied. He paused just long enough to look over his shoulder. “You said Grif’s here and probably in trouble.”

“And Church,” Wash repeated, still trying to think of where his calm and steady hand went. “And Tex.”

“Well, I better watch out for my fellow Reds then,” Donut huffed before marching forward. “Before you fill their holes.”

The dress down made Wash feel so hollow he didn’t even correct the sim trooper. 

Instead he just moved forward, leaving the discarded Red to collect snow. 


	30. Recovery Two IX: Justice and Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah man. So excited to be done with this round of chapters and move on after the next Intermission to where stuff starts getting a little more, shall we say, convoluted for our favorite groups. Well. More convoluted than this story has already been haha
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @washingtonstub, @analiarvb, belsonl, Yin, staininspace, @notatroll7, Zambo, and Septdeneuf for the feedback!

He was instantly filled with relief once his entire suit was on, everything clicking into place, his helmet securely on and ready to cover his expression. Which was no doubt edging on _obviously annoyed_ by that point. 

North adjusted himself, stretched his fingers and wrists, testing the gauntlets of his armor. He even nodded to Theta when the AI took just a moment to test out his ability to test his projecting abilities over North’s shoulder before flickering out again almost immediately.

There was no reason to tempt these questionable Charon guys more than necessary. 

 _Theta,_  North hummed in his mind, stepping through the door and meeting with his waiting sister. _The moment you’re able to, scan the suit for any alterations. Especially tracking or inhibiting._

 _Good idea!_ Theta blasted back, immediately vibrating in North’s implants with a new desire to respond to the request.

South stood in wait, arms crossed and foot tapping. 

Whatever had happened while they were separated had definitely unsettled her, and her head bobbed slightly as if distracted by her shoulder guards or her boots from time to time. It reminded him of when she used to wear their dad’s clothes around the house, all shirts and shoes too big to fit. 

“Something wrong?” he asked as she began walking alongside him.

“Oh, no more than usual,” South replied snidely. 

Somehow, even though he had been the first to start walking, South naturally took up the position of leading them down the halls. And though she had never been there before either, North knew to trust where she was going. 

It was somewhat surprising how easily she took up being in control, though he supposed a lifetime of being her brother should have made him expect no different.

“You know what that means? It means there _is_ something the matter,” he only halfway joked. “It means there’s a _lot_ the matter. Because it’s us.”

“You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if we weren’t about to drown in our own hubris,” she said. 

And it was true, to a degree. 

They stopped and grabbed their weapons at a table where two science officers seemed keen to back away from them. As if they had some sort of plague. Or they were worried about getting punched, which was fine by North because he definitely felt the desire to punch most people on the ship at that point. 

As they loaded their weapons, North glanced to South who seemed rather fascinated by her sidearms. There was very _clearly_ something off about her.

“Are you not happy about who they’re sending us after?” North pried. “Because I get it. I was shocked.”

“North, nothing fills me with more pleasure than going after this fucker right now,” she assured him, her gaze sharp even in the glean of her helmet as she glanced to him. “I’ve _dreamed_ about taking him down since the second they made me a Recovery Agent.”

He frowned, tilting his head at her. “Then what’s with you?” 

“I got our team assignment,” she said plainly before sheathing her weapons and leading North once more toward the one hanger in the facility that North was familiar with thanks to their arrival. 

“Oh, _that_ bodes well,” he said, strapping his rifle over his back and stepping in line with his sister again. “I can take a guess on what _that_ means.”

And it was no wonder as they came up to the very ship that they had arrived on and saw just outside of it none other than the two ‘close friends’ North had to thank for his current shiner. Though, by the way the two dropped their shoulders and Sharkface in particular dropped the can of spray pain he had had, they had _not_ been briefed on who else was on their assignment.

“You have to be _fucking kidding me,”_ Sharkface snarled.

“Hey, dumbshits!” South snarled, wasting no time in stalking toward them. “Get the fuck in the ship. We have a clock.”

“ _You’re_ still in charge!?” not-CT snapped, obvious more furious at that than he had been with them still being on a team together.

“Remember what I said about having no bones throwing you two under the bus for your lack of obeying orders?” she reminded them as she and North both climbed into the ship ahead of the two. “Yeah. It happened. And Control is going to be _super_ excited to talk to you guys after our Capture-and-Retrieve is finished up.”

Once on board, the ship doors closing behind them, South turned just enough to give them a warning glare. “And, if I were you, I’d be _very_ obedient this time around. Since _maybe_ a good report from _this_ successful assignment might negate the shitty stuff I _haven’t_ told Control about you two yet.”

“He would _never_ take your word over mine,” not-CT declared with an accusatory finger pointed South’s way.

North narrowed his eyes before grabbing the arm and spinning not-CT around until the appendage was stuck firmly, and a little painfully, behind the other soldier’s back. 

“My sister’s doing you two idiots a favor at this point,” he reminded them. “I would be nicer about it if I were you two.”

He shoved not-CT toward the approaching Sharkface before turning to follow South toward the cockpit. 

“I am _sick_ of this bullshit!” Sharkface roared, looking intently at North as the former Freelancer turned back around. “Where the fuck is the _justice_ in you two running this show after all you’ve done?”

“You have a fixation that you should address on your own time,” North said simply with a shake of his head. He closed the cockpit door behind him and looked to South with a shake of his head as she prepared them for take off. “I’m pretty sure they’ll kill us when the opportunity arises.”

“We just have to kill them faster,” South deadpanned as she took control of the ship. 

“I love when I can’t tell if you’re being serious,” North replied just as Theta’s projection grabbed his attention. 

“Suit’s clear,” Theta said, head tilting. “But I think they copied some stuff. Things are duplicated that shouldn’t be in my files. I’m fixing them up.”

“I guess that’s not the _worst_ thing they could have done,” North grunted, still on edge about his suit. “What do you think, South?”

“I think your suit doesn’t interest them in the least, North,” South said flatly.

“Really?”

“ _Really,”_ she said in that tone that denoted she was done with the conversation. “Now. Can we _please_ go after our target without further distractions?”

North shrugged. “Fine by me.”

Before the words had left his mouth, South was taking off.

* * *

She took a few moments to really _memorize_ the look of the map, the coordinates of the moving target, the make of the vehicle they had on record, and just how long they had before he reached the launchpad for evacuation of the planet.

If there was _anything_ South was certain of anymore, it was that she would personally see to it that their target didn’t get to leave the godforsaken simulation planet they’d all been stuck on while she missed the war for humanity. 

Especially considering the deft hand their target had in that situation.

“We’re on the move,” she announced to the rest of the team as she set up autopilot and sat up from the pilot’s chair. 

When she turned around, North was standing nearby, as expected. He gave her a simple nod, understanding their orders, his favored sniper rifle over his back and his arms crossed against his chest.

Almost just as expected, the Insurrectionist soldiers stood with obvious aggravation and distrust. 

If she knew anything about body language, South could make the easy assumption that the two of them were fully expecting for orders and team divisions to split the way they had before with the Freelancer infiltration. A thought that, to South, was fairly laughable considering what had happened. 

“You,” she said with a point toward not-CT. “You’re watching North’s back. The two of you take this to the landing coordinates and hold down until Phase Two.”

“What?” not-CT spat out. He motioned toward North. “He’s a fucking _sniper._ With an _AI._ What the fuck are you expecting me to help out with?”

“Whatever my brother _needs_ you to help him out with,” South hissed back before walking past the two teammates and grabbing a jetpack from the back wall of the hold. She turned and heavily threw the second to Sharkface’s chest, and though it wasn’t _quite_ heavy enough to make him step back, the aggression in South’s motion was clear. “You’re with me on direct contact for Phase One.”

“South,” North began to protest, though it seemed to die in his throat the minute she glared back at him. 

“Let’s move. Our time window is tight enough,” she ordered, strapping on her jetpack with practiced ease before literally punching the hatch door. 

South didn’t bother looking to make sure Sharkface had obediently followed her lead. A part of her was wishing he would fuck up for her to be able to tell Control all about when they were done. The other part of her knew full well the power play that there was in her not looking, in her showing she _assumed_ to know he wouldn’t dare defy her orders. 

So that when he stepped up beside her and they dropped simultaneously from the back of the Pelican, there was a vicious satisfaction from it all deep in her chest. 

Her jetpack flared on behind her and she could hear, just barely, over the roaring winds of the skies when Sharkface’s likewise turned on. 

It was then that she allowed herself to look his way and see for herself that the red and black soldier was flying toward their target’s moving car with her. South couldn’t help but smirk as they went forward. 

“Now that it’s just the two of us, _Terry,”_ South called over their secure radio, leading them into the approach. “I want to make something _perfectly_ clear.”

There was a snarl over the radio that was near animalistic, but he didn’t bother to give his concerns _words_ , so South elected to ignore them.

“I can figure shit out fairly well,” South continued. “I _know_ that you and your partner are the ones who laid hands on my brother. He might think he’s macho enough to not worry about that kind of behavior, but I happen to take it as a _personal offense_ when my twin is attacked.” She looked Sharkface’s way, finally meeting the gaze he had held on her. “You touch my brother again – you make another _really, really_ stupid move toward my family again – I will end you. I will _crush_ you. And there’s not a damn thing Control, your armor-stealing buddy, or a fucking Covenant Armada can do to stop me from doing it.”

Sharkface deepened his growl before glaring ahead at the roads below and the quickly approaching vehicle envoy they were targeting. 

“You must think very little of Control’s assignment to be this distracted right from the word go,” he snapped.

“Far from it,” South sneered back before glaring ahead. “Nothing has been more on my mind in the past year than to get back at _this_ particular bastard, Sharkface. No worries there.”

* * *

The ship guided itself to South’s directed coordinates as expected.

North leaned over the empty pilot’s chair and watched as they readied to land sixteen clicks ahead of the envoy. His eyes narrowed slightly, scouting the building that they were destined to land on for the best vantage point.

Theta appeared over his shoulder in a smaller burst of fireworks than usual. He was serious, but attempting to lighten the mood all the same.

“You ready for this?” the AI asked. 

“I’m not going to ask you to do anything you don’t want to, Theta,” North quelled his concerns before they could even come up, pushing off from the chair to turn back around and start out the ship. 

“I know,” Theta said, voice as thick with appreciation as it was guilt. 

The AI disappeared, the corners of North’s HUD becoming bright from various windows of calculations and surveillance reports around the area.

As they landed, North walked over to the hatch and with a far more delicate hand than his sister, opened the door.

He glanced over to the Insurrectionist in CT’s armor as the man came up along to his side. His head tilted slightly before he started out the door and pulled his sniper rifle around to his frontside.

“You two seem very ready to take down a superior officer,” not-CT mentioned, readying his own gun as he stepped behind North. 

“He’s not a superior officer,” North corrected before kneeling on the corner and beginning to set up his position with well practiced precision and speed. “The upper echelons of Project Freelancer were peripheral to actual military.”

“Would they have kept your loyalty better if they had been soldiers, too?” the other man asked, glancing around the building for any missed bodies. North knew he wouldn’t find any – Theta was good about setting their trackers. 

“Everyone’s the same on the other side of a scope,” North said curtly as he finished up his stand and lowered into position.

Theta shivered slightly in the back of North’s implants, an unnatural coldness tickling at the back of his neck as the AI did so. He did his best to ignore it while not-CT stared holes into the back of North’s helmet.

“That’s a pretty fucked up way to look at things, Freelancer,” the Insurrectionist mused.

“Well, you can thank the guy coming up in that envoy,” North informed him, settling his sights on the approaching vehicle, buying his time for a closer range. “He has a direct hand in helping shape just how fucked up all of us happen to see things.”

“You don’t say,” the other man bristled, looking toward the cars. “Never even heard of this guy until today.”

At the very memory of the man, Theta shuddered again and buried himself deep within North’s mind, far away from any part of North that was taking aim or accounting for reaction time.

Taking a breath, North aimed. “Lucky you,” he finally responded before taking three shots almost master than the sniper rifle could reload for them.

He watched as the center car began to swerve out of control without three of its tires and took some satisfaction in watching as the protective vehicle behind it was all but taken out by the overcorrection the driver frantically attempted to make.

“Huh,” not-CT said as he observed. “Guess I should stay on this side of your scope.”

North glanced to the man, eyes narrowed. “The other end of my scope isn’t always where the gun’s pointing,” he informed not-CT.

They glanced toward each other as North reached up to his helmet and turned on the radio.

“South, they’re ready for _pick up,”_ he informed his sister.

* * *

She listened to her brother’s report, but her attention was far too much on the car below. She waved to Sharkface and, whether he was ready to kill her or not, he knew to move in for the sake of completing Control’s objective.

South followed suit, increasing the speed of the jetpack as they neared the calamity of the crash and waisting no time using her landing to kick one emerging armed guard into the ground. 

Landing on the roof of the back, wrecked truck, South took aim and began firing freely upon every approaching soldier and guard.

Sharkface took a more direct approach, barreling into one of the heavier armored soldiers and knocking him off the railing of the bridge before turning around and whipping his gun with him, spraying fire at the front jeep as it came racing toward the scene. 

One bullet hit the driver as its mark and almost immediately the jeep went spiraling into a nosedive, flipping with its guards flying to the sides and heading straight toward them.

“Men. So messy,” South gritted out before taking a running leap from her landed on vehicle and narrowly missing the collision between the wrecked armored cars.

By the time she landed, South took aim again, toward the actual vehicle of interest. 

These soldiers seemed somewhat more alert to what was going on and took shelter through the opened doors, reigning fire over the corners and through the shot out windows. 

“I’ll tear them apart!” Sharkface growled, beginning to motion toward his jetpack strap but South waved him off. 

“Don’t use up what’s left of the fuel. We’ll need it for rendezvous,” she ordered just before one of the guards threw a pulse grenade.

They looked at it as it landed just between their two positions and South waved Sharkface off. “Cover!”

South wasted no time in leaping over the collided vehicles to make her cover, only glancing back to see Sharkface diving toward their vehicle of interest after her own distance from the grenade was secure.

The blue pulse of the grenade quickened until, at last, it exploded in a terrific burst of light and fire. Which was just the cover South decided she needed. 

It wasn’t as if she was about to lose the opportunity to take their target in herself to _Sharkface_ of all people.

Dropping her mostly used up rifle, South ran back from the vehicles for a start then quickly turned around, taking a flying leap over the overturned chassis of the armored jeep to kick her jump off over the flames of the grenade. 

Without taking any risks into consideration, she noted the way the lights of leg armor gave off the warning green glow of additional components in use and watched as her leap doubled in height and length. Her armor fired her off the ground like a catapult launch, leaving the flames of the grenade to lick the air beneath her without being _close_ to the danger. 

And though the back of her mind tickled with concern, she couldn’t help the grin across her face as she aimed her feet down for a pounding land, breaking the front of the target vehicle beneath her boots and giving her a perfect pinpoint to take aim at the second guard while Sharkface’s hands were full with the first. 

Two shots and the man dropped.

South kicked off the glass and debris from around her feet, stepping out of the dented hood and sliding over the top of the vehicle before dropping to the back passenger door. 

Her gun readied, South grabbed the door handle with her free hand, crushing the metal with additional strength, before retching it from its hinges, sending the door flying behind her. 

There was no surprise from the Counselor as he stared back at her. 

"Get out of the vehicle,” she ordered, her lips curling over her bared teeth. “You’re coming with us.”

The Counselor continued to stare at her ominously before folding his hands together. His head tilted. “I suppose that is _you_ in that new armor, Agent South Dakota.”

“Wow, way to earn that psychiatry degree,” she sneered. “You win a door prize, Counselor.” She narrowed her eyes, nose flaring. “Get _out._ Of the vehicle. _Now.”_

Slowly, he raised his hands and stepped out of the vehicle. 

If South knew anything about him, she would have assumed he was unarmed just from the simple fact that she didn’t trust any of the higher ups in Freelancer to be packing any evidence of _actual_ dirty work. But at the same time, she was under no delusion that as intimately as the Counselor knew any of them that they could pretend to know him at all. 

Just behind her, Sharkface delivered a final blow to the soldier he had been going hand to hand with, hitting him so hard the sap’s helmet flew off, bouncing in their direction. 

The Counselor’s head and eyes followed its roll, brows raising slightly. South didn’t dare take her gaze or her aim off of him. 

After cracking his neck, Sharkface came up alongside South and looked over the Counselor. “What? This guy’s it?”

Slowly, the Counselor looked Sharkface from top to bottom and then whipped his attention back to South. An entirely new understanding came over his face as he looked at her. 

“Charon Industries,” he said, not asked. 

“Someone is very interested in enlisting your services, Counselor,” South said darkly. “And I’m afraid it’s in both of our interests that you agree to come along.”

“You’re unhappy with that arrangement?” he asked in that same irritating, teeth gnashing way that South _hated_ from him. The self assurance that he already knew the answer to any question he could possibly ask her.

“I’m unhappy with _any_ arrangement that involves anything less than me putting a bullet between your eyes,” she said. After a beat she nodded to Sharkface. “Or has me working alongside him. _Fortunately_ for you, Control has me doing both.” Her grip tightened on the trigger. “For now.”

After a pregnant pause, the Counselor placed his hands behind his back and slowly turned to them. “I know when I am in an unwinable scenario, Agent South Dakota. I suppose you and I are a lot alike in that way.”

“Shut up,” she snapped before looking to Sharkface. “You get the pleasure of flying this fucker back to the rendezvous with us.”

“I thought you’d like the chance to drop him,” Sharkface snickered as he stepped up to the Counselor and cuffed his hands. 

“Nah,” South replied. “I’ll just enjoy flying behind you and knowing I have at any moment the option of shooting _you_ and killing you both at once.”

The Counselor and Sharkface both looked back at her. And while Sharkface let out a low croak of a laugh, almost appreciable for her morbidity, the Counselor’s face flickered with concern for a moment before returning to the emotionless husk South was most familiar with. 

Letting the terror set in for their target, South reached to her helmet and opened the channel to North and Theta.

“We’re on our way. Target is secured,” she informed him. 

“Starting up our ride while we wait,” he replied before allowing a small pause. “Good job.”

South turned off her radio and nodded to Sharkface, both of them taking a leap as their jetpacks fired off. The Counselor hung like a limp noodle from Sharkface’s grip. 

“Whatever has been promised to you, Agent,” Counselor called out despite the winds, “it will _never_ be for your favor. You have no idea what _titans_ of men you have stepped into the arena with. The CEO of Charon Industries–”

“Hey, Sharkface,” she called out. “While we’re bonding, how about I take the fall for you if you drop this miserable son of a bitch next time he speaks up.”

“And here I thought you’d kill me for your brother’s sake,” he yelled back.

“Oh, I will eventually,” she promised. “Just no reason to not have fun with a mutual hated enemy in the meantime.”

For his part, the Counselor didn’t speak up again the entire flight.


	31. Intermission: Black and White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, some answers for you guys who have been wondering for so long how all three sections will tie in together : ) It’s everything you ever wanted! : ) Happy happy
> 
> Special thanks to @analiarvb, @washingtonstub, Zambo, @notatroll7, @prettyarbitrary, belsonl, Yin, staininspace, and @novofame for the feedback!

Malcolm Hargrove would concede to being described as many things, but rarely in his life had _patience_ been one of his virtues of choice.

He waited, looking at the planet just out of his grasps through the window of his office and took a deep breath as he saw another pair of transport vessels carrying supplies and soldiers away from the pathetic rock. Out of his grasp, but _soon._ Soon the artifact-rich colony would be within his grasps again. 

And the successful stride he was taking Charon Industries toward was all in thanks due to his newest partnerships and alliances. Alliances that were paying off tenfold from what he had expected.

Still, it was not overly surprising to him when the doors to his office slid open and the heavy clangs of armored boots carried into his serene space. 

“Sir,” the familiar voice of his _former_ security specialist said, thick and guarded as he stood in attention.

Hargrove waited until he heard the door slide shut before looking back to his soldiers, his hands crossing behind his back. 

The two Insurrectionists stood before him, not worse for wear as they had been after the disaster that was the Freelancer base infiltration, but obviously displeased. The leader took off the modified Agent Connecticut helmet, the strong lines of how he held his jaw apparent with upset. 

Behind him, the larger soldier who insisted on going by _Sharkface_ kept his own helmet on, arms crossing over his chest.

“I am due to interrogate our newly acquired asset from Project Freelancer,” Hargrove reminded them. “Thus it is my _hope_ that whatever nonsense it is that you claim is on your minds is very much _worth_ it.”

“It’s the Freelancers, Sir,” the Insurrectionist spoke up again, holding his helmet firmly under his arm. “You’re allowing them–”

Holding up his hand, Hargrove silenced the soldiers, head shaking. “Whatever claims you are about to follow this with had _best_ be good. Good enough and _supported_ enough with evidence that I would be willing to overlook how our former Freelancer friends have proved monumentous success with you in the field where your own team –” both men flinched “– time and again proved _not_ to be against the same forces.”

“The fact that things went so poorly at Freelancer _should_ have been your first indication,” the leader said, more boldly than he had spoken to Hargrove any time before. “If the fact that the two of them were part of the unit _personally responsible_ for the deaths of the rest of our team and the death of our spy in their ranks and for _all_ the personal property loss and injury suffered by Charon was _not_ enough indication of that, the disaster in the Freelancer base should have been.”

“The disaster,” Hargrove repeated, eyes narrowed. “The disaster born from the unreasonable conditions to the mission that the two of _you_ brought? The one salvaged, however barely, by Agent South’s intimate knowledge of Freelancer’s internal infrastructure and the working utilization of that knowledge agains them? _That_ disaster is the one you would have me punish a new agent for after she led a successful operation?”

“We’re going to end up killing each other,” Sharkface snapped. “We _can’t_ work together, Control. It’s not compatible. And I, for one, am _sick and tired_ of lowering myself to their level in order to complete tasks.”

Hargrove felt his lip curl. “Are you suggesting there is a fallacy in my methods of assignment?”

The two remained silent, staring back at him.

“Today, gentlemen, I received _results,”_ Hargrove growled, nearing his desk just to hit in tandem with his every point. “The sorts of results and efficiency and _expertise_ that I would most normally have assigned to the highest calibers of my employ. And all at the cost of nothing but a promise of _eventual_ freedom.” He turned back on the two, eyes dark and angry. “So please. _Do_ explain to me what I care about your petty squabbling so long as I receive results that actually matter.”

When they fell silent, though visibly still dissatisfied, Hargrove let out a disgusted noise from his throat and shoved past the soldiers. 

“I will be attending to our newest guest,” he informed them. “I suggest the two of you rethink your strategy in attempting to get your way with me. Because the _petty quarrels_ approach is doing _you_ far less favors than it is your apparent rival.”

Silence fell between them and Hargrove continued on his way into the hall and toward the interrogation room. He kept it well hidden from his leftover soldiers, but the smile of success was splitting his mouth open from cheek to cheek. 

His heels clicked along against the metal floors and he silently guided himself across his ship until he reached the interrogation room.

Staring through the dark lens of the oneway glass, Hargrove looked at the righthand man of his longtime rival. 

Counselor Aiden Price was sitting calmly, his cuffed hands steepled before his eyes as he stared expectantly toward the glass. There wasn’t fear, necessarily, in those eyes. But there was a _question._

Hargrove reached for the comm speaker and flipped it on, the screen on the other side of the oneway glass lighting up and sending a soft blue glow across the Counselor’s face, forcing him to blink.

“Greetings, Counselor Price,” Hargrove said formally enough, confident in the voice cloaking on the other side of the speaker. “You may call me Control.”

“I prefer _Chairman_ , if I must call you by anything,” Price replied in a placid tone. 

Impressed but not overtly surprised by the development, Hargrove raised his brows. “How very astute of you, Counselor. Though I expect nothing less from the man who is the brains behind the _gusto_ of the famous Doctor Leonard Church.”

Price blinked lazily at that, still holding his mouth and nose behind his steepled hands. “Hm. I do believe we are _both_ aware of the disservice that comment casts upon the doctor’s accomplishments and usefulness on his own,” he hummed in reply.

“Perhaps,” Hargrove conceded. “But I believe even your humility would allow me to say that few things would have run so smoothly and _quickly_ on Project Freelancer had it not been for your very generous contributions of time and service over the years.”

There was a tense pause as the Counselor of Project Freelancer continued to stare through the glass, as if he could instinctively pinpoint where Hargrove would stand. 

“I assume that, considering my accommodations, you have means to make this a legal holding,” he assumed dryly. “That you have every intention of actually raising charges.”

Hargrove stared straight back at him. “Yes.”

“And you wish to work out a deal,” the Counselor continued before closing his eyes, humming in thought. 

“I can be very generous, Counselor,” Hargrove assured him. “However, I also can be brutal and unrelenting. Much like your dear Director.”

Price opened his eyes sharply, full of intent.

And Hargrove smiled. 

* * *

With quiet contemplation, the Director watched the diagnostics being ran on the screen before him.

The bunker room was dark, casting the glowing screens across only him. And though the numbers and files flew by at incalculable speeds on the screens, he kept his attention fully on them, hardly even blinking.

When the door behind him opened, the Director didn’t turn to face it.

Had he more of a warrior’s instincts he might have met the threat immediately, considered the tactical advantage of his back facing possible enemies more than simply amusing.

The secretary padded in, a tablet in her hands as she approached.

“FILSS has yet to be brought back online,” he informed her. “Though my security files are beginning to finish being decrypted. I suspect I shall have a clearer idea of what occurred at the main facilities shortly.”

“That is good to hear, Sir,” she replied.

“No it is _not,”_ he corrected, looking over his shoulder just enough to make the woman flinch back. “Nothing that has become of my life’s work in the past few weeks have been good.” His eyes fell back upon the screen before him and he gave the slightest of shakes to his head. “And I find it no coincidence that it has fallen in the same timeframe as the rise to prominence of one of my intellectual adversaries.”

The pause between them carried perhaps a moment too long, leading to an uncomfortable shift from the woman behind him before she stepped forward.

“Director, we have a message from the Chairman,” she said. “I couldn’t send the file to you directly with FILSS nonoperational so I brought it to you the file directly to look over.”

“Speak of the devil,” the doctor said, doing nothing to disguise the low rumble from the back of his throat. 

When he turned, the secretary was already placing the tablet on the desk for him. Her head tilted up, glancing toward the security footage screen that the Director had been turned to and she looked pensively back to him.

The Director looked over the letter – long, exuberantly wordy, and filled to the brim with that self-aggrandizing that made the hatred felt for Malcolm Hargrove all the more accentuated.

If there was one thing he knew, it was that the Charon Industries CEO was more _car salesman_ than _scientist._

“Sir?” 

The Director studied the screen and, specifically, the still images of the security tapes that had been left in the aftermath of the break in and FILSS undoing. For a moment, he nearly dropped the tablet back to the table, brows raising slightly at the sight.

Still fuzzy, the images were being corrected but there were several reasons he did not need much further confirmation on whose distinct armor he was seeing, fighting off the various guards of the compound.

Carolina.

The rest of the film was corrupted, which was particularly suspicious, but he could hardly pay it mind when he was looking at the agent he had once been _least_ concerned with on the screen. He took a breath, then glanced back to the Chairman’s inquiries about missing field equipment and purported security breaches at Freelancer facilities.

“You may leave,” he informed his secretary as he sat back in his chair, putting a thoughtful hand to his chin. 

She walked out with only mild hesitation, and the Director thought. And he thought _hard._

With the level of the security breaches, and with his own empirical evidence courtesy of the security cameras, the Director knew there was only one plausible explanation to give the UNSC about the criminal charges they were investigating.

A rogue agent with access to sensitive Recovery Unit clearances went off the rails and both stole from the Project – and, by extension, the UNSC – and attempted to sabotage evidence of their wrongdoing.

An agent who would have had to have been on record and observable by the Chairman’s personal investigating from the beginning. Someone who _wasn’t_ dead according to their files.

The Director turned to the security footage and leaned forward, deleting everything with a few clicks.

“We shall say _successful_ instead of _attempted_ sabotage,” he decided before continuing to erase any trace of Recovery Zero from the archives. And, of course, there was Recovery Two but her death had already been reported.

“Which leaves our _only_ logical conclusion for this catastrophe,” he sighed, bringing up his remaining and thus far missing agent’s file. 

He glanced only casually over Recovery One’s file and picture before bringing up the recorder.

“A response to the inquiry of the Chairman of the UNSC Oversight Subcommittee…”


	32. Recovery Zero X: Leap of Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of bridging chapter so high on the emotions again before we move forward. I’ve been teasing a few of you for a while now about how the upcoming chapters are going to be quite a wild ride soon so it’s fun to get a lot of this stuff for the characters moving and grooving before all that. But, really, the most important part of all is that we’re over halfway done with this story. I cannot express how excited I am to be able to finally say that with this monster haha
> 
> Special thanks to @analiarvb, @washingtonstub, @secretlystephaniebrown, @anything4yew, @notatroll7, staininspace, Zambo, Bluebird202, Yin, and MeteorAtDusk for the feedback!

There was a tired tug to the corners of her eyes as Carolina squatted over the corner. The roof of the base was flat, advantageous for a lookout, but also more exposed than to her liking. 

As far as she was concerned, they had already spent far longer there than would have been safe, but she wasn’t comfortable moving forward with only half functioning equipment. It was against protocol and, really, against common sense. 

She glanced to the corner of her HUD again where her infrared should have been giving her a full reading of the area. The static and blur gave her no comfort.

“ _Epsilon,”_ she warned in aggravation. 

“Working on it. Hold your horses,” the AI mumbled in her ear. But his argument was weak and his tone tipping with similar disgruntlement. 

Of course, he might’ve been just as annoyed with the circumstances as she was, but it didn’t make their situation any more comparable. He wasn’t concerned with putting _others’_ lives on the line for the sake of an argument. At least not as far as Carolina could tell. 

AI, in her experience, didn’t feel overwhelmingly burdened by guilt.

The regrets of Eta and Iota lingered with whispers of a long dead mother’s name but Carolina ignored them as she always did. The dual implantation had unusual side effects, and she couldn’t be certain what line started with them and ended with her. 

The _Director_ had answers for _that_ and an innumerable amount of other questions regarding the program. 

“You know, _usually_ when someone says they remember something, that’s the end of it,” York’s voice carried from behind them.

Carolina glanced over her shoulder and confirmed it was York’s near noiseless footsteps in her periphery before returning to looking out over the simulation area. Epsilon hadn’t detected the approach at all and it made her grit her teeth even more. 

“I’m sorry. When was the last time _you_ were a bunch of zeroes and ones?” Epsilon snapped, immediately projecting over Carolina’s shoulder and tilting his head in faux curiosity. “I said I remembered. My memories are files. _Encrypted_ files… for…” He paused, head tilting back. “I don’t know. _Some_ reason.”

In the pause that followed, Carolina and York glanced to one another. 

“Encryption is a specialty of mine,” Delta’s voice picked up, projecting between Epsilon and York somewhat protectively, though of whom it was hard to tell by Carolina’s angle. “I believe it would also be _safer_ if an outside source code objectively deemed what was necessary to our cause and what wasn’t. So as to not decrypt something best left alone. For the moment.”

“That’s actually very logical,” Carolina teased, glancing to York again, though his tensed shoulders and disapproving hands on his hips were far from helpful. 

“I try to be,” Delta replied more favorably.

“Wait a minute wait a minute,  _wait,”_ Epsilon barked, light blaring some in a flash of anger. “I have tons of my memory – my _own_ memory – encrypted. And you guys are getting onto me for not functioning at full capacity,” he accused with a meaningful glare toward Carolina, “but you want to pick and choose what part of my own processor gets decrypted? And I don’t even get to choose it?”

York’s fingers tapped against his hip expectantly. “Tell me, Epsilon, do _you_ think it’s a great idea to just unlock all your memories willy nilly? You have _no_ reservations about it?”

“I don’t… That doesn’t…” Epsilon flared again. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Epsilon,” Carolina attempted a more warning tone, getting to her feet. 

“It _doesn’t!”_ he insisted, whirling around on all of them. “And I’m thinking you guys are hiding something from me. I don’t know how much I like trusting people hiding shit from me. Especially when _it’s my own goddamn brain–”_

“Epsilon,” Delta’s more soothing tone said, the projection coming to Epsilon’s side. “Encryptions, as you know, are not afforded without reason. And for these files to _be_ encrypted either they were hidden _from_ you…”

Shoulders of his projection visibly dropping, Epsilon glanced away from Delta. “Or _by_ me for some reason. Yeah… _yeah._ I guess that would make sense.”

Once it appeared Epsilon was done fighting, Delta tilted his head back toward Carolina and York. “I will begin helping Epsilon with the decryption of his files, if there is no other service you need from me.”

York gave a noncommital shrug, his attention still split between Carolina and Epsilon. “You do you, Dee.”

Noting York’s behavior for later, Carolina turned more directly to Epsilon. “So Delta says something and you _don’t_ want to fight us on it for ten minutes?” she asked skeptically.

Epsilon gave her a shrug as well, rubbing at his head. “What can I say, Cee? That’s an AI that talks some sense.”

“Cee,” York snorted, looking off.

“Delta, I need you and Epsilon to work on this as fast as you can,” Carolina ordered, eyeing the green AI projection. “As long as Epsilon’s tinkering around in there and not in neural implants, he’s putting my suit on haywire and I don’t like being anything less than a hundred percent. Makes me _antsy._ Especially when we’re as exposed as we are.”

“Once I select through the files that are most pertinent to our objective, Agent Carolina, the decryption should not take long. Especially if, as we suspect, Epsilon himself was responsible for the encryptions,” Delta explained. “He has actually made a very admirable attempt at narrowing down which files should be cyphered through through first.”

“Like I said,” Epsilon shrugged, kicking his feet somewhat irritated. “I _do_ remember stuff with the Director. It’s just… fuzzy where to go from there.”

“Then let Delta help,” Carolina replied. “That’s an order, Epsilon.”

“Won’t let you down,” he said with a wave before disappearing. 

She watched the spot where Epsilon had projected carefully before glancing in turn to Delta. The other AI similarly bowed out before disappearing in a flicker. 

York approached her, and it didn’t take much imagination to see the thin frown under his helmet as he looked over the valley. “We’ll probably be getting out of here soon enough. Delta’s nothing if not good with numbers,” he told her.

“I’m aware,” she replied. Carolina sighed and followed York’s glance. 

There was nothing around, but her HUD readout wasn’t confirming nor denying her gut feeling on the subject. 

“If you’re still on the fritz, I’ll take watch,” York told her. “Not anything personal, but Delta is a wee bit better at multitasking than your guy. I’ve already got motion trackers set and everything.”

“I don’t _need_ extra equipment,” Carolina felt compelled to argue. She sighed at her own tone and leaned her head forward until her visor met the palm of her hand. “This is going to work out, York.”

“Of course it will, Boss,” York replied with little humor to his words. 

“I mean it,” Carolina warned. 

“I know, but _logically_ speaking, Delta can retreat to my neural implants rather than fuck around with my armor while he’s allocating resources,” York continued, a little sharper himself. “Epsilon can’t. So it’s messing with your equipment. You said yourself that’s got you at _less_ than a hundred percent. So how about you take a rest? I was going to relieve you of watch anyway. You need sleep.”

“Must be nice to have that option,” Carolina replied in snipped words, hand reaching back to her helmet almost subconsciously.

By the time she looked back, York had already turned fully toward her. “Rest up, Boss. It’s what’s best for everyone.”

“Sure,” Carolina sighed. “Get me if you need anything. Or if your head injury flares up–”

“It won’t,” York cut her off. “We’ll be fine.”

“For now,” she agreed before finally walking to the base entrance and dropping down.

Her armor hummed vacantly with activity beyond her observation, and in some ways Carolina _really_ hated it.

* * *

York stretched, keeping himself moving in a vain attempt to stave off any lingering tiredness. He never realized how much he missed artificial nighttime settings on the _Mother of Invention_ before winding up on a planet with nearly no daylight changes. 

At least then his fatigue could be owed to the change of the lighting. 

He had little fear of their circumstances changing over the course of one more night – at least not with the readiness of Delta’s set motion trackers – but it didn’t make the urge any less pressing. 

They were, after all, on the run. And what’s more, whenever Delta and Epsilon finished with their carrying on, they would be running straight for the very man responsible for everything out to get them. The guy responsible for _everything_ that had gone wrong.

 _Almost_ everything, in any case.

As he looked out into the valley, York _felt_ Delta’s returning presence long before the flickering of a green projection turned up around his preferred shoulder. 

His AI was a small comfort, but one he could hardly do without anymore those days. York raised an expectant eyebrow toward his friend and waved a hand. “Well, _you’re_ obviously not as bogged down by decryptions as you could be. So what’s the gossip?”

“It is _far_ from gossip, York,” Delta objected.

“It’s something you only feel like telling behind your _new best friend’s_ back, so I’d qualify that as gossip,” York prodded. 

“Epsilon and I are fragments of the same full AI, York. Our relationship is far more akin to that of a relative. Brothers, perhaps,” Delta corrected again, the testiness flaring up in the even tones. 

“Okay, okay,” York sighed. “So you’re not here to tell me stuff behind his back. I get it. Loyalty among binary codes and whatnot.”

"Not at all,” Delta replied candidly. “I was simply clarifying my relationship while also reiterating the point that the information I wish to share is _not_ futile and petty as gossip is often treated. I am sharing pertinent and meaningful information and discoveries while splitting half of my attention on the decryption process so as to not alarm Epsilon to the sharing of said information.”

“Behind his back,” York said again.

“Technically, as AI, we do not _have_ backs–”

“Delta, you give me the run around one more time and I’ll actually consider pulling you tonight,” York warned as he crossed his arms. 

“A hollow threat gets us nowhere, York,” Delta sighed almost flippantly before projecting a list of code. “These are the layers of memories currently encrypted by Epsilon himself, so as to avoid immediate resurgence and rapid destabilization of his emotional state. Each layer possesses potential for further exposed traumas… _or_ potential for useful information and knowledge. Within these layers are also rudimentary skill sets for AI to utilize. Skills that allow us to perform various tasks for agents as well as run various equipment. In order to unlock certain skills, decryption is necessary. Same as unlocking memories.”

York hummed slightly, tilting his head. “Which explains why, along with not remembering anything, he didn’t even know he _was_ a computer before we started poking and prodding him,” he realized. “Okay. So in order for him to be any good to Carolina as an AI, he has to decrypt his processors. And in order to do _that_ , he needs to decrypt the memories they’re attached to. Which has potential to be good… or potential to be _super shitty._ And I’m guess you can’t tell which one’s which.”

“I can theorize,” Delta responded.

“Right, you’re god at that,” York mused.

“But I cannot guarantee,” Delta continued. “Some processors necessary to function are decrypting themselves the more Epsilon pushes himself and adapts. And I think those natural decryptions are also slowly allowing him to uncover memories he may not even realize he’s remembering. He is able to deal with them in a safe and healthy way.”

"But forcing stuff is traumatic at best,” York said, eyes narrowing. “But it can’t endanger Carolina outside of screwing with her armor, right? Which, of course it’s bad, but it’s not going to _hurt_ her. Right, Dee?”

“The fact you are asking means you are suspicious otherwise despite several reassurances to the contrary,” Delta said plainly before lowering his head. “I do believe you have _cause_ for concern.”

“ _Goddammit,”_ York hissed, slamming his fist against the nearby strut. “Who’s most likely to initiate implantation? The formerly suicidal AI or my increasingly unpredictable partner?”

“I place the odds sixty-seven to one in favor of Agent Carolina initiating the process in order to hasten our progress and allow Epsilon more processing power for his memories,” Delta provided rather immediately. 

“Of course,” York growled. “Okay. Where are they? I’ll talk sense into her.”

Delta tilted his head.

York rubbed at his helmet with an aggravated sigh before dropping his shoulders. “I will _try_ to talk sense to her, alright? I know my limitations. Worst case scenario, we have to fight her.”

“Which you will lose,” Delta deadpanned.

“Which I will _cheat_ at because I’m not fucking around with this anymore,” York argued. “Here, you’ll like this, Dee. We stop the stupidity, throw Carolina on the back of our Mongoose, and make a break for the first freight off this godforsaken planet.”

When the AI hesitated, York felt a cold slosh in his stomach. His inking suspicions from before resurfaced and York couldn’t help but grit his teeth. 

“You’ve had something else planned over all of this. Haven’t you?”

“It is not that,” Delta argued, his projection flickering for a moment. “Not now. We may want to hasten _your_ plan now. I seem to have been kicked from the joint link with Epsilon. And I believe I know why.”

York felt cold, rapidly looking toward the base entrance before leaping toward it. “Carolina!”

* * *

Carolina had taken off her helmet long ago, but even without the HUD readouts streaming before her eyes she knew there was something devastatingly wrong with the suit. 

The joints were sluggish to her movements, the ting of lock warring against her own desires to push forward regardless. And most of all there was the flickering of the lights along the hydraulics of her system. And while she had allowed for them at first, the small aggravations had long since crossed the line to feeling like something more akin to a _threat._

 _“Epsilon,”_ she hissed.

Though she called for him, she had honestly been surprised to have a flickering projection of the AI sprite appear before her. Since he and Delta had first begun working on decryptions, the stolen AI had been too concentrated on the work at hand to worry about projections or interactions. 

What Carolina saw then, however, was earnest distress. 

The AI held tight to the sides of his head, shaking and muttering over the speaker in her suit too low for her to hear. 

“Epsilon, stop,” she ordered to no avail.

Looking around, Carolina saw her abandoned helmet and quickly put it back on, greeted almost immediately with her radio echoing Epsilon’s chatter. 

“I can’t. These aren’t mine. But these are. No these _all_ are. And this here. I can organize this. Put that together. This came before that. I get it now – oh god _why._ And this one’s too long to decrypt but I have to know – maybe it’s the next part of the story. _Maybe it can tell me why!_ Why would you _do_ this!? What kind of monster are you? What kind of monster am I? Oh god. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

More than slightly alarmed, Carolina squatted down close to the ground. With Epsilon running her armor, there was a genuine risk of collapse if he broke – and the haunting images of him doing _just that_ in the brainstem of a friend were aptly provided by her own mind. She tried to give herself less distance to fall.

“Epsilon, whatever is happening, you _need to stop it,”_ Carolina instructed, voice growing harsh and cold. Taking command of the situation seemed like the only real option to take. 

The AI didn’t seem to respond to the approach, however. Epsilon’s rambling continued with an increased fervor. 

“Delta!” Carolina snapped, growing increasingly concerned. “Delta, are you still there?”

“He’s not, I kicked him out!” Epsilon cried out, as if he was as shocked and worried about the news as Carolina was feeling. 

“What? Why!?” the former Freelancer demanded. 

“Because he knew something he wasn’t telling me! I can’t trust him. I can’t– He might want something and I don’t know if I can give it to him and _agh!_ Why didn’t he just tell me what he was looking for!? Why did he act like what I was looking for was _so bad_ in comparison. It’s not. I just want the truth!”

Carolina’s glare hardened as she concentrated on the pacing projection across her vision. “ _What_ truth, Epsilon? Tell me, and I’ll help you any way I can. But until you try to get help you just sound… sound like you’re paranoid and maybe delusional.”

Immediately, Epsilon turned on his heels and faced her, a flare of flames broke out over his shoulders. “I’m not!”

“Then _tell me!”_ Carolina snapped back, not backing down an inch. 

“Delta said asking the question was _distressing me._ That looking for answers would make me _unhinged,”_ Epsilon spat.

“Will it?” Carolina asked, inching her fingers back toward the neckline of her suit while Epsilon was distracting himself. 

“Yes,” Epsilon said in brutal, heartbreaking honesty. The sprite’s shoulders dropped and his head shook. 

Her fingers reached for the slot where Epsilon’s chip was nestled in the servos of her armor. Carolina could have done a hard pull right then and there, stopped things from carrying any further while the joints of her armor remained somewhat under her control and Epsilon was at his most unguarded. 

Fingers dancing over the region, Carolina screwed her eyes closed. Hesitated. 

“Please… _Please_ don’t,” Epsilon’s voice whispered almost too low to be heard. 

“If these memories being decrypted are going to hurt you, Epsilon, then why decrypt them?” she asked lowly. “Why ask the question?”

“Because _we_ need answers,” Epsilon answered, stepping toward her. “Because I think I wasn’t lying before. I _do_ remember that these files have the information you’re looking for. That we can find the Director _and make him pay_ through them.” He paused, flickering in and out again. “And… and because even if I don’t ask the question, it’s _still_ there, Cee.”

“What _is_ the question?” Carolina asked lowly. “Tell me, Epsilon.”

Epsilon’s hollow stare bore through Carolina. 

“Why did they take her away from me?” 

Carolina quietly considered the question and the various and dangerously high number of other questions it brought to the forefront. 

Fingers brushing against the panel of her armor again, Carolina lowered her head. 

“Go offline, Epsilon. Decompress. Rest. I won’t force you to eject, but I think you should,” she said. “Try to trust me. And when I bring you back online, we’ll look through those files. _Together._ Got it?”

Epsilon looked at her uneasily. “Are… are you _sure_  about that?”

“Yes,” she said. “Positive.”

The AI kicked around for a moment, an untrusting gaze still set on Carolina before it gave a frustrated sigh and turned off. The subtle click behind her helmet and the press of the tiny chip against her readied fingers told Carolina that he had gone through with it.

In one motion, Carolina pulled the chip and rose to her feet again, her armor feeling lighter and more agile. 

Bringing her hand out, she looked cautiously at the chip. 

There was some honest surprise on Carolina’s part that Epsilon had listened to her and ejected. That, however hysteric an artificial intelligence construct could be, there was a level of trust it had in her that she didn’t know how to feel about. 

And therein lied the problem. What to _do_ with that trust.

Epsilon had been right. Those memories – they were the trail necessary for tracking down the Director, at bringing their entire song and dance full circle.

But whatever else those memories held weren’t easy for Epsilon to go through alone, _if_ possible for him to go through at all. And for some reason the AI didn’t want Delta around them either. 

Her grip on the chip tightened and Carolina thought, for a moment, about what it would mean if she decided the information was not worth the suffering of the AI or the danger that it was placing herself and York in. She wondered, if only for a moment, if it would have been an act of mercy to offline the AI permanently, like Freelancer hadn’t had the guts to do.

“That wouldn’t solve anything for anyone,” she said, taking off her helmet with her free hand. “But Epsilon _can’t_ be forced to do this alone anymore. Not if we want to get anywhere _fast.”_

* * *

There was a huge chance that they were being put on repeat.

That York would burst into the room, alarmed and full of assumptions, only to find that Carolina was self aware and collective. That she wouldn’t dare put a dangerous AI in her implants because that plan would be _utter nonsense_ given everything they did and, more importantly, _didn’t_ know about Epsilon.

Which made the sound of Carolina and Epsilon talking on the other side of the hall comforting to a degree. Nothing unusual. 

 _We still must know why Epsilon kicked me from the shared line,_ Delta reminded York cautiously. _Even if for benign reasons, it is suspicious._

“Well, Dee, you’re not the _least_ suspicious AI yourself lately,” York reminded him, slowing his pace as he saw Carolina walking toward them calmly. “Lina. Okay. Everything’s… alright outside. And stuff.” He took a moment, gathering his breath and shaking his head. He ignored the way Epsilon flickered online over Carolina’s shoulder in favor of keeping his gaze on his partner instead. “Delta said Epsilon kicked him out. I got worried I’d have to pry you out of that armor.”

“Hm,” Carolina replied, glancing toward Epsilon who likewise crossed his arms and looked unimpressed. “That all? You seemed a bit more urgent than that.”

 _York…_ Delta murmured, his own alarms and conclusions ringing hollowly in the back of York’s mind.

York stood, quiet with a building anger in his chest as he looked at Carolina intently. “What did you do?”

“I found out where we’re going next,” Carolina answered easily enough, walking past York. “Epsilon was right – the selection of memories he had were full of… _relevant_ information. And once he was able to decrypt them we sorted through them and are ready to head toward the facilities most likely to be currently running the Director’s pet projects.”

“Carolina,” York called sternly, grabbing Carolina’s shoulder to stop her from walking any further toward the exit. “Did you actually do it? Did you _actually_ go against _all_ possible reason and–”

"It’s nothing to worry about, York,” Carolina said firmly. 

His mind felt like it was grinding to a halt. York stared at Carolina as if she was speaking in tongues before tightening his grip on her shoulder. 

“Epsilon, listen to me, _please,”_ he all but begged.

The sprite jumped over Carolina’s shoulder, an intrigued tilt to his head as he did so. The tone from York was obviously something he wasn’t expecting in earnest. “Dude, _what’s_ the big deal?” 

“If you’re implanted in Carolina _please_ eject,” York said lowly.

“ _York!”_ Carolina growled, slapping his hand away from her shoulder and turning toward him fiercely. 

He paid attention to the projected AI instead, hand dropping to his side. “You might not remember everything, but you’ve been implanted in someone before. In our friend. _He almost died_ because of it. And I will _not_ allow you to put Carolina at risk.”

“No one decides if I take a risk or not other than me,” Carolina spat venomously at him. “This is my choice, York. And it’s working out _fine.”_

“You’re risking it not working at _all!”_ York yelled back. 

Epsilon twitched nervously through a flicker of his projection. “I…” he stammered before his glow increased to normal. He spun around to Carolina. “Cee, I don’t want to hurt you or anything…”

“I helped you clarify some of those memories, didn’t I?” Carolina said almost dismissively. “And we got what we wanted from it. And _you’re_ not panicking from them, are you?” Her eyes sharpened as they returned to York. “It was worth a potential risk.”

Grinding his teeth, York concentrated on Epsilon again. “Do you remember it at all? You almost _killed_ him, Epsilon. It might not have been your fault, you might’ve locked away whatever it was that made you do it, but it’s there. And it’ll come up – either on its own or through you two decrypting more memories to force them out. And this time you’ll be in _Carolina’s_ head while you freak out.”

"I…” Epsilon stammered out again, tone sounding more synthesized and emotionless. Then, like the flip of a switch, his visage stiffened and he glared at York. “How about you mind your own business, shitlord!?”

Carolina wore a matching intensity as she peered at York unblinkingly. “Epsilon,” she said calmly, “I need you to go offline.”

The AI stiffened and jumped back. “But… But, Cee–”

“You’re not going to be ejected. But obviously Agent _York_ thinks he needs to discuss this matter with me privately,” she said, eyes narrowed. “Or else he’s not going to drop it.”

“I’m not dropping it period,” York snapped. 

“Epsilon,” Carolina ordered again.

“Sure thing, Cee. I trust you,” Epsilon said just before flickering off with a one fingered salute York’s way. 

Delta projected and tilted his head. “Rude.”

“Fair is fair, York,” Carolina said, pointing at Delta. 

“But I am not directly involved with the matter at hand–” Delta attempted to argue rather logically before York held up a hand to make him stop. 

“Let’s not argue _this_ point with her, Dee. She’s obviously willing to give me hell on everything else going on right now,” York said with a touch of viciousness in his tone directed at his partner. “Just go dark. It’ll be fine.”

“The odds of unarmed combat against Agent Carolina–”

“Delta,” York groaned. 

“Executing,” Delta replied at last before off lining, leaving the buzzing emptiness in the back of York’s skull that he hated. 

They stared at each other in matched anger before York shook his head. 

"What are you doing this for?” he demanded. “What’s the _plan_ here, Carolina? What’s so damn… Why are you so…” He stopped himself with an annoyed growl, having officially lost his cool demeanor. “Carolina, I don’t like a lot of stuff that’s happened over the last few years, but I always understood where you were coming from.” He looked back in time to see the drive in her eyes, the clenching of her jaw. “I don’t know why you’re doing this. Why are you risking everything?”

“Because in order to get to the Director – in order for me to know _everything_ he has done – I had to,” Carolina responded simply. “That’s enough reason for me.”

York stared at her, a little lost in just who he was seeing anymore. “Epsilon–”

“We are compatible,” Carolina said simply. “He and Wash weren’t.”

Eyes narrowing, York tilted his chin up. “I guess that makes everything that happened just _fine_ and _acceptable_ then. Guess we should just forget it all happened.”

“God no,” Carolina spat. “This will be for Wash, too. For everyone.”

“Right,” York huffed, unimpressed. “Which is why you didn’t do anything to help Wash while you were both Recovery agents, right?”

“I couldn’t do anything,” Carolina said firmly. 

“We _all_ could have done something,” York corrected her. “We all still _can._ Take out Epsilon. Put him in that memory unit again. I’ll have Delta work with him, it’ll all be safer this way. You already have the information you needed.”

“No,” Carolina replied stubbornly.

“ _Why not?”_ York growled, growing more irritated. “Carolina, you’re not being reasonable–”

“Because we’re going after the Director, and we’re doing it for everyone,” she said again, eyes set and determined. “And we’re doing it for _Epsilon,_ too.”

York frowned. “You won’t let me stop you with this, will you?” he asked.

“I won’t even let you try,” Carolina said almost remorsefully, a small smile on her lips. “Can’t you trust me here, York? Epsilon and I have the directions we needed. We know where to go. I know you want to get the bastard back, too. Think of everything he’s done.”

“I don’t have to,” York said. “And for the record, you keep making trusting you a harder and harder bullet to take with these ideas.”

“York–” she began to argue only to be cut off by a shake of York’s head.

“You will _promise_ me that you’ll pull Epsilon the moment he gets squirrelly,” York ordered. 

“No,” Carolina said. “I’ll decide when to pull Epsilon and right now he can’t afford to be pulled.”

“ _Carolina,”_ York warned.

“I will promise to make you aware of the decisions I make carrying forward,” she attempted instead.

“How about you let me make them _with_ you?” York pressed. 

She hesitated.

“ _Carolina,”_ York gritted out. 

“Fine,” she sighed. “Fine you’re right. We’re partners.”

York looked at her uneasily but slowly gave her a nod. “You said that the Director was running personal experiments still. That that is why we’ll find him with those memories you unlocked,” he clarified. “Why do you know he’ll be running experiments?”

For a moment, Carolina didn’t seem like she was going to answer, glancing away from York and growing an angry bite to her lip. 

Then, finally, she replied, “Because he’s a sick, sick man, York. And he thinks he’s going to be responsible for saving humankind with what he’s doing. And he’s too stubborn to see he was distracted from doing precisely that a long time ago.”

Slowly, York’s mind began to click into place. 

“Alright,” he said quietly. “We’ll do this.”


	33. Recovery One X: Everything Goes Boom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up coming a bit short compared to what I’m used to for the One chapters but I think you guys will be satisfied with the action all the same ; )
> 
> Special thanks to @analiarvb, @washingtonstub, @secretlystephaniebrown, Zambo, Yin, @prettyarbitrary, staininspace, Addleton, and @hobiisaflower for the feedback!

The cackling from the gone-mad AI was nothing short of enraging, but Tex attempted to maintain her collectiveness. She needed _information_ more than she needed anything else right then. Information about Church – about any of the others. 

“You wanted to be called _O’Malley_ now, right?” Tex ground out, doing her best to keep her attention on the purple armored body while also not losing track of the glow of ‘Gary’ behind her. “Everybody’s so keen on new names.”

“Actually, I’ve been trying to explain how filling out _only_ O’Malley on a tax form might be a little difficult,” a more placid tone came from the purple armor. “Not that I’m fully in support of the current medical healthcare structure or anything, but there are still old rules to be followed!”

Tex tilted her head at them. “You think healthcare should be provided regardless of how much money is attached to someone’s name?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“No, you fool!” Omega’s twisted voice preened. “Doctors should be free to charge ridiculous amounts regardless hahaha!”

The purple helmet tilted toward its shoulder, though nothing was projected there. “Aw, that’s not completely true. There’s bound to be a middle ground that rewards the decade of schooling a medical professional has to go through _and_ making sure that the general public doesn’t have to sell their souls for basic care! And personally, I always vote for the guys who say they have a creative solution! Man. I really hope they bother to share it with us someday. That’d be swell!”

Taking a step back, Tex’s hand reached for her sidearm. “O’Malley, I can’t help but feel like you’re not as in control of everything as you’ve been putting on.”

“I am in _complete_ control, you fool!” the AI snarled defensively. “My one reservation of the moment is just what is the best way to eviscerate your newly, already in partial disrepair, body! I wish for it to be particularly cruel and poetic. Mwahaha. Hm. Yes.”

“Wow, that seems mean,” the calmer tone sighed. “I don’t know how much I like your version of teamwork, O’Malley.”

“Oh, _silence,_ you!” 

“Yup,” Tex said, finally grabbing a hold of her gun. “ _Real_ control there, little guy. Now…” With lightning fast reflexes she pulled out her gun and aimed it straight for the newly found head of her old headmate. “You are going to tell me what you did to Church. _And_ you’re going to tell me who has further plans for him. And _then_ I’m going to shoot you.”

“Whoa!” the alarmed host cried out. “Don’t you mean _or_ you’re going to shoot us?”

Tex let her silence answer for her.

“That doesn’t seem like the _best_ way to get a prisoner to comply,” he mumbled. 

“Fortunately, it is _you_ who are _our_ prisoner!” O’Malley’s voice suddenly screamed just before Tex realized that the purple suited man had switched out his weapon for some sort of strange, green glowing device.

“What the– is that a _medical scanner?”_ she asked just before O’Malley cracked it up and fired a large, electric pulse straight for her. 

Tex grunted just before the blinding light swept over her vision and sent her body flying back, hitting the computer that Gamma inhabited. 

“HEY.   
WATCH IT.   
SHIZNO.”

Shocks pulsed through her body as Tex willed it to push back to its feet, dropping more and more to the floor as she crumbled under the robotic limbs’ own weight. Her HUD lit up with flashing warnings of systems shut down and the depowering of her suit overall.

“No no _no!”_ Tex roared. “I need to– I’m going to rip you apart! I’m… I’m–”

She saw O’Malley stand over her, a possessive energy over the frequencies as he did so. Her HUD began to flicker in and out, but she could still catch the sharp glint of his helmet. 

“No! I will never hand her over to him. _She_ is not part of the deal. I take care of Agent Texas _myself,”_ Omega hissed seemingly to no one just as the static took over Tex’s auditory receptors and vision at once. 

She was in complete lockdown, and if she had had a heart it would have been rushing with the anxiety. 

Countless, _endless_ hours of being trapped in her body, reduced to the caves beneath the bases, caught back up with her. Where she had first learned to jump, to _act_ like an AI. But it was not a time period she had ever wished to revisit. 

Testing the frequencies around her, Tex was horrified to find that even Gamma’s computer was suddenly offline. As if Omega somehow _knew_ that the talent had been something Tex grew more comfortable with since the last time they shared a head. 

 _Dammit,_ Tex thought. _Dammit dammmit – I will kill him. Damn him I will_ kill _him the second I…_

She sat in the darkness quietly, her code rumbling, speeding through a scan to find some way of getting out of the predicament. _Any_ way. 

Since she had learned she was an AI, seconds had seemed to grow longer. She no longer could count in them – they took too long. Time passed at such a different, quicker scale. She had always been quick compared to other Freelancers, her reaction times being off the charts, but back then she would have never imagined that there could have been reason for it. 

When the silence stretched longer, Tex felt herself drowning in the static of it, her body locking up. 

The _stasis_ was hauntingly familiar. Like a sensation she had long since strove to forget.

Or, perhaps, one that was forgotten _for_ her that she wasn’t ready to have return.

Slowly, she curled into herself, her processes seizing, accomplishing nothing even as she forced them to continue. She had to think of a way out, had to bring herself back online had to–

In a blink, the HUD lit up before her. 

For a moment she was too stunned to even speak, watching as her body pulled itself from stasis, and her visor onlined to show her the two faces peering down at her. They hovered curiously close, as if expecting something.

“Huh,” the Red armored man huffed, crossing his arms. “Never had to do that with Lopez. Obviously Blue Team in all of its pathetic attempts to recreate outstanding Red Team technology came up with inferior models!”

“Dude, shut _up_ already! I don’t know how many times I have to explain to you, there are no teams!” Tucker shouted over his shoulder before looking back down to Tex’s chest. “And it’s not because anything shitty happened to the wiring. It looks like they were… I don’t know. Damaged or something. They just had to be switched back to where they belonged. See! And Wash wanted me to actually _read_ the directions. Ha! What a waste that would’ve been! I wouldn’t have poked around Tex’s chest plate so much to have memorized where everything went.”

There was a long pause where Sarge looked at Tucker expectantly.

“Oh, okay. That’s not the only reason,” Tucker muttered. “Please don’t tell her–”

“She’s been told,” Tex said, pushing up from the ground to sit up and causing Tucker to scream and leap back. She rubbed at her helmet awkwardly. “O’Malley, did he–”

“Oh who?” Sarge asked. 

“You mean Doc?” Tucker asked, offering a hand which Tex took to get up. “He was running away from here when Sarge and I finally got the transporter to deliver us to the right location. Or. Well. I guess that was _actually_ Simmons who got it working. But he’s not here so you can totally give that credit to us.”

“Simmons? The maroon guy?” Tex asked. “Where’s he now?”

“He went to let Grif and Church out of the nearby Red Base,” Tucker explained.

“We _were_ on our ways there, but we heard your _girly screaming_ so we came’a running to your rescue,” Sarge beamed.

Tex glared at them.

“What?” Sarge asked with a tilt of his helmet.

“I didn’t scream. And I _definitely_ didn’t scream like a girl,” Tex snapped. 

“No need to be embarrassed, Tex,” Tucker shrugged. “Your scream isn’t _nearly_ as girly as Church’s.”

“I _didn’t_ scream, Tucker,” Tex insisted. “First off, I _don’t scream._ Second off, I was hit with some sort of electrical pulse. It turned off my systems. I wouldn’t have been able to make _any_ noise while I was offline.”

“You know, maybe you should show that trick to Donut,” Sarge said. “It seems like his girly scream gets used no matter what damage happens to him. In _fact_ that scream sounded an _awful lot_ like Donut’s scream. But that would be ridiculous! Since I distinctly ordered Donut to stay in the canyon and watch our base. He’d never be insubordinate to a direct order!” Sarge shook his fist. “Unlike Grif!”

Tex joined Tucker in staring at Sarge for a moment before she looked back to check on Gamma’s computer – it was completely smashed, and it wasn’t from her landing on it before. Her gaze narrowed. 

“Something big is happening and it involves more than just who we know are here already,” Tex concluded before turning to the others. “Take me to where Simmons went to get Grif and Church. And I mean _now._ We might already be too late.”

“Late?” Tucker asked. “Late for what?”

“Stopping them from hurting who they _really_ came after,” Tex concluded. “Which reminds me… Tucker, come over here. I need to give you something.”

Curious and perplexed all at once, the aqua armored soldier stepped up to her.

Tex took a moment, looking over him for injuries, then she delivered a blast of a right hook that sent the man spinning on his heels and ultimately crumpled on the floor unconscious. 

“Huh,” Sarge said. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

“It’s for his own good,” Tex assured the Red leader. “To get to me and Church, one of my former colleagues was planning on assassinating Tucker in front of Church. Turns out monologuing to someone reveals your plans a bit more than you’d probably like for them to,” Tex revealed. “We’ll just have to keep Tucker hidden away in here until I’ve eliminated Wyoming from the equation.”

Sarge nodded. “Uh huh… and that could only be done by knocking him out?”

“No,” Tex huffed. “That was for the thing about my chest plate.”

“Fairplay,” Sarge said simply. 

* * *

“ _SAAAARRRGGE!!! GRRRRIIIFF!! SIIIIMMmmons–”_ Donut wheezed, shoulders folding forward as he struggled to fill his lungs in the roaring winds of the snowstorm. “Yeesh. Why couldn’t Simmons have a one to two syllable name like the rest of us? It makes it _so_ hard to scream for him!”

Washington gritted his teeth and grabbed at his helmet again before deciding that subterfuge had long since been an option lost to them. He didn’t even bother correcting Donut’s posturing. 

There was a near certainty that they would be met with death by either Wyoming or the Omega AI. And Wash had no one to blame other than the idiocy of the Simulation Troopers he had fallen in with. That and Freelancer, though there was precious little he _didn’t_ rightfully blame on Freelancer barely under the surface.

“Donut! You keep screaming and the next thing that’s going to respond will be a bullet through your helmet!” Wash hissed, still huddled in the snow by Caboose as they approached the supposed weather machine.

Donut, standing tall with no regard for how his pink armor stood out in the whirling white landscape, turned toward them, his helmet tilting down. There was a dark glint to the way he was looking at them even through his visor. 

“Was that a threat, Agent Washington?” he asked thinly. “And did you actually _yell_ it at me? For _yelling?_ I’d ask you if you could spell _hypocrite_ but it’s already written all over your helmet! Which would be _cheating._ Like you. Because I bet you’re a cheater, too.”

“You’re officially making this _ridiculous,_ Donut,” Wash snapped. “I was not threatening you, I’m giving you the facts. Wyoming – the Freelancer who took your team’s robot and is working with the Omega AI – is a marksman. A _sharpshooter._ And I can guarantee he’s hidden in these snow drifts looking for a target. He will _not_ make any bones about killing you, Donut! You have to know that, somewhere deep down, you are a soldier in a _war zone._ Try to face the facts.”

“You’re right, Agent Washington!” Donut snapped. “I’m definitely in a war zone! The war zone of the Reds,” he growled with a thumb hitting his chest plate, “and the dirty Blues!”

"Hey!” Caboose spat out, straightening his back. “I took a bath very recently! I am _not_ dirty!” Some of the tension left his shoulders and his head wobbled toward Washington. “Church is very strict about shower times. He says it’s the only way Tucker and I are allowed to stay in the base.”

Wash glared back at Caboose for a moment before his eyes widened. “Caboose, you just said Church’s name!”

Caboose’s head tilted. “Of course I did, Agent Washington. He _is_ my best friend– Oh! I remember my best friend’s name!”

Despite the way Donut looked ready to turn on them, Wash couldn’t help but process the momentary relief he felt at Caboose’s improving condition. Perhaps the damage was not entirely severe, or perhaps they had to just let him process things on his own.

But then again, perhaps the AI that had jumped to his implants weren’t physically wired and while leaving damage, didn’t provide residual imprints. Residual _memories_ to supplant Caboose’s own.

The thought drew a frown from Wash which Caboose seemed almost supernaturally aware of. 

The large Blue soldier put a firm hand on Washington’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Agent Washington,” Caboose offered sincerely. “We’ll find Church and everything’ll get better.” He paused and huffed, glancing off. “Even if it also means we need to find _Tucker._ ”

“Maybe,” Wash said softly in return. “But until then, I need you to lower your head some,” he said, tugging on Caboose’s hand to lower the giant. “You’re above the drift some and Wyoming’s a remarkable shot with his sniper rifle.”

Donut’s entire head rolled with what was no doubt his eye roll. “Oh, please,” he scoffed, hand beginning to mock talking. “Blah blah blah. Super Sniper that only I, the scary secret Blue, know about. Totally going to shoot you for standing out like a lightish-red thumb in the middle of a snowstorm.”

“Exactly why you should _get down_ , Donut,” Wash grumbled again before cautiously raising just the top of his head over the drift to begin scouting the area of the weather machine.

In less than a minute, a shot crackled through the winds and Wash could feel the kick of his helmet being grazed over the top.

Immediately, he sunk down into the snow drift and reached up for his helmet. “You have to be fucking kidding me – _seriously!?_ I was hardly over the drift!” 

“Holy cow!” Donut cried out just before diving into the cover with them. “You didn’t say he would shoot!”

“I said he had a sniper rifle he was good with and would put a bullet in your helmet!” Wash snapped, glaring down at Donut. 

“You never said _shoot_ , though, Agent Washington,” Caboose chided. “You should try to talk nice with us more. Instead of yelling everything.”

“Yeah, the graveliness of your voice has gone _way_ up since we started this mission,” Donut nodded.

Feeling like he could justify ripping out his own throat at that point, Wash just gritted his teeth and glared at them. “How many times do I have to remind you that my radio is ripped out. I _have_ to yell at you so you can hear me from inside my helmet.”

“Yeah, but who’s fault is that?” Donut asked accusingly. “You’re so trigger happy and Blue to your core, I bet you you ripped out your own radio to make some sort of point and now you’re stuck with it! So I don’t feel sorry for you at all!”

Washington stared at Donut for a moment before turning around to face the snow drift again. “Shut up,” he said maturely over his shoulder.

“Although, I _do_ know a few other ways you probably could have someone _else_ tear up your throat like that,” Donut began in a sing-song tone that made a chill go down Wash’s spine that had nothing to do with being caught in a blizzard. 

“I told you to shut up!” Wash cried out, voice cracking and making his throat actually throb that time around. 

Both Caboose and Donut looked at Wash owlishly after his explosion only to startle and turn back around when distant voices began calling.

“Hey! I heard Donut over here!” 

As if completely rejuvenated, Donut jumped to his hands and knees, still mindful of keeping below the snowbank. He looked toward the voices, body shaking with enthusiasm. “That sounded like Simmons!”

“Yeah? Well, I’m going the other way. Either because that’s where _I_ heard a gunshot or where _you_ heard Donut works as a reasonable excuse for going the other way.”

“And that’s Grif!” Donut gasped in excitement. “Red Team is together again!” He looked back at Wash almost viciously. “ _Ha!_ Looks like your nefarious Blue plans didn’t work for long! _Get fucked!_ Yeah!!! Take that, Agent Washington! Whoo!”

“Oh, for crying out–” Wash ground out before looking through the snows toward the approaching colorful armored figures. He cupped his hands and screamed out, “You two! The Reds!”

“Ugh, and then _that_ annoying voice makes _three_ reasons to leave,” Grif’s voice carried.

“Agent Washington!?” Simmons asked, his maroon armor becoming clearer the closer he came. 

“Get down!” Wash yelled. “There’s a sniper!”

“A what!?” 

“Did he say snacks!? They have _fucking snacks?_ ”

“A _sniper!”_ Wash tried again desperately. “Get _down!_ He’s going to shoot you!”

“What!?” the cried out in unison again just before a shot rang out through the air. Both simulation troopers screamed and hit the snow as fast as they could. 

Washington stared at everyone available to him and considered, for a moment, that the entire scenario could have been a particularly cruel joke from Freelancer. A set up meant to crush his will in unique and interesting ways.

The winds picked up again and they began to get pounded with hail large enough to ping against their armors.

“Ow! What the hell is going on!?” Grif cried out. “I just _know_ this is somehow the Blues’ fault!” His head bobbed up toward Simmons who was laying across his back, cowering from the gunshots still with his arms thrown over his head. “See, Simmons? This is what happens after you spend time on _The Inside_ and try to adjust to life outside of prison again. It’s too different. I don’t even recognize this place anymore!”

“We’ve never been here, you asshole!” Simmons cried out. “You were in a holding cell with Church for all of a few hours!”

“Church!?” Caboose piped up, nearly raising to his feet before Wash thought to grab his arm and yank him back down. “You have Church!? Wh-where is he? I have to find him!”

“Uh, yeah about that,” Simmons said as he peeked out from under his arms. 

“He followed after that Doc guy,” Grif huffed. “Said he knew that Tex would be that way and he needed to save her.”

“ _What!?”_ Wash cried out.

“I know! Like that bitch would ever need being rescued!” Grif replied.

“This is a catastrophe,” Wash growled under his breath.

“Well, I for one am just so glad to have Reds finally outnumber Blues again! Thanks for not dying, guys!” Donut said, scooting over to his fellow Reds. 

“Whatever,” the duo returned dully.

Beginning to feel a twitch in his left eye, Wash wondered just how much of things going wrong he could take and still be competent in a fight against Wyoming. But he was drawn away from the thoughts as Caboose’s strong hand held onto his shoulder. He blinked, looking back to the Blue. “Caboose?”

"Agent Washington,” he said quietly. “You can help Church, can’t you?”

Wash was taken aback for a moment, looking at Caboose in silent wonder before he waved his free hand toward the snow drift. “I’ve got to be able to get past Wyoming’s sniping range, first. Then figure out a way for him to be distracted while I sneak up on him. Then I’ll do what I can to stop him. And… And then I’ll look for Church and Tex. And Omega.” 

Everyone stared at him quietly in the aftermath of the announcement, causing Wash to look down and sigh, shoulders sagging. 

“When I lay it all out like that, then it’s… a little more daunting. But. I’m up to the task,” Wash said just before getting pelted with a particularly large piece of hail. “For fuck’s–” He rubbed at his head and looked to the others as they similarly began to recoil from the weather. “The weather machine – you four! You have to go after the weather machine that Doc-O’Malley-whoever made using Red Team’s robot.”

“Holy shit, _Lopez_ is doing this!?” Grif cried out.

“Sarge would be so proud,” Simmons said.

“We’re not taking orders from you anymore, Mister Blue Freelancer! You’re a _Red Killer!”_ Donut snapped.

“We don’t have time to argue! That thing is going to tear these mountains apart _while we’re on them_ if we don’t do something and do it _fast!”_ Washington growled. 

“Okay!” Caboose cried out before jumping to his feet.

“Wait, Caboose, no!” Wash cried out, reaching for the Blue.

The winds roared in the comparative silence that followed as all the Reds stared at Washington. Wash remained frozen, reaching for the perfectly fine Caboose who looked around before storming off toward the center of the storm with a bunch of _bleeps_ and _bloops_ he provided for his own side effects.

"Wow,” Grif finally provided. “ _That_ was fucking dramatic.”

“Something’s distracting Wyoming,” Wash realized out loud before getting to his own feet. “Okay, everyone go to stop that weather machine with Caboose. I trust him to break the machine on his own, but it still might be dangerous. So watch out for him.”

“Why? He’s a Blue? What the fuck do we care if he gets killed?” Grif asked.

Turning toward them, Wash couldn’t help but feel a snarl cross his face. “Because I can _promise_ you that if anything happens to Caboose while this disaster is going on, I’ll pay it back to your team in kind. Not to mention it would mean _all of us_ dying on this mountain when there’s an avalanche.”

“Are… you sure you don’t need back up?” Simmons asked as he and Grif finally got up on their own. 

“Believe me,” Wash said as he started toward the direction Wyoming had been shooting from, “You would just get in my way.”

* * *

All things considering, Tex supposed the Reds’ leader was not the worst companion she could have had on their way to take on O’Malley and Wyoming – a combination of people she would be glad to never see coordinate again. Whatever circumstances brought them together, _whoever_ sponsored them both into their plans, she knew it could not bode well for her.

Tucker was unconscious and hidden away, so there was at least _that_ concern to no longer worry about.

However, their team’s stealth left something to be desired given Sarge’s insistence on humming as they snuck closer to the center of the snowstorm sweeping through Sidewinder.

Tex threw him a dirty look more than once, but it came with diminishing return by the time they were close enough to see the gathering around the Reds’ brown armored robot. 

She took a moment, processors halting, as Tex saw that between the white armored sniper and the half-possessed purple medic was the familiar cobalt armor plating she was looking for. 

“Church,” she gasped.

“Leave it to a Blue to get captured,” Sarge harumphed beside her. The older man squatted down on their position and tilted his head, humming slightly. “Now _say…_ Your Blue buddy wouldn’t happen to be a robo-McGrumpy-pants like you, would he?”

For a moment, Tex was so busy taking in as many observations and analyses os the area as she could to try to figure out how to save Church that she was ready to let Sarge’s comment be lost to the winds. But she tilted back as it sunk in, then turned to face the old man completely aghast. 

“What did you just ask!?” she demanded. “ _How_ would you know that?”

“Oh, please,” he laughed, waving his hand as if they were old war buddies. “Do you think Lopez put himself together? I know a robot when I see one. You ain’t fooling a Red whose work you two _obviously_ copied.” He shook his head, whistling his disappointment. “And to think, you didn’t even take the chance to make any upgrades! Modifications! At the _very_ least you could have put a bomb in the Blue guy’s belly!”

“Oh, really? And just good would _that_ have done us?” Tex demanded.

Sarge stared at her blankly for a moment before letting out, “Huh. I guess nothing for you Blues. But it’d _sure_ be a glorious and _bombastic_ victory for the Red Army!”

“Yes, well, judging by the appearance of your team’s robot, you may get your explosion regardless,” Tex warned. She reached to her sides and pulled out a handgun per hand, prepping herself in a lunge position. “Sarge, how good are you with that shotgun? _Really?”_

He sputtered in complete offense. “This shotgun is more trusted than my own hand!” he declared. 

“Wonderful. You’ll cover me _without_ filling my servos with buckshot then,” Tex said before glancing over her shoulder. “And I mean that. If you _accidentally_ shoot me, I might _accidentally_ kick your ass in front of your precious Red Team.”

“Ha. You’d have to be able to walk first. Which would be hard if I shot off your legs,” he argued almost gleefully.

Tex couldn’t help but feel a smirk come along. “You know, under different circumstances, we could have made _quite_ the team, Sarge.”

“Never too late. You know, Black is just a really, _really_ dark shade of Red!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tex laughed before beginning to move forward. 

Instinct alone turned on the active camouflage enhancement they had swiped from her old armor, but Tex knew with the intensity of the storm and the deepness of the snow she sunk through with each step made her best cover her speed for the time being. 

It wasn’t until she was only a few yards away from her targets that it even occurred to Tex that O’Malley or Gary would have thought to set motion trackers. 

Wyoming was kneeled with his rifle aimed in the distant snowbanks, but before Tex could even think of lunging at him full force, he whirled around and shot for her shoulder. 

Startled by the sudden change, Tex barely had time to react but still managed to only let the bullet clip the shoulder guard rather than pierce her armor plating. Still, it took out her active camouflage almost immediately. 

“Dammit!” she growled, firing off a few shots at both him and O’Malley’s purple armored body before diving beneath a rock. 

Church stiffened and faced her direction. “What the– _Tex!?”_

“Ah, hm. Yes,” O’Malley coughed awkwardly into his fist. “As I was saying, I will gleefully kill your little friend if you don’t manage to fix the weather machine, as per my instructions.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t know how! I’m not a fucking calculator!” Church screamed out.

Tex squinted in curiosity about the situation as she reloaded her weapons, back against the rock. 

“Plus you didn’t say you were going to kill Tex! You said you were going to kill _Tucker!_ What the fuck is going on?” Church continued, grabbing at his helmet shakily. “I don’t – why do you want _me_ to fix the stupid – I don’t… I can’t. Just. Just give me some more time.”

“There is no _time,”_ O’Malley informed him almost gleefully. “Only _blame_ to be had once you inevitably fail!” He coughed again awkwardly. “If. _If_ you inevitably fail. Bwahaha.”

Church looked at him, a little lost, before turning back toward the Lopez robot, lightning bursting out around the area. He took a heralding breath and began walking forward, stance that of a man on a mission.

Setting her jaw, Tex realized that they were reenacting some sort of scenario that was _very_ familiar. “Son of a bitch,” she hissed.

With a quick roll, Tex lined herself up, both guns aimed toward Wyoming’s position, only to be surprised when the other Freelancer was nowhere to be seen. She looked back and forth only to be hit with a kick from behind that sent her flying into the snow.

“Fuck – _how are you moving so fast!?”_ she snarled just before dodging another string of bullets from the sharpshooter. 

Things were going to hell even faster than she could have imagined, but just as Wyoming closed in on her, he was hit from behind with a spray off buckshot. He let out a somewhat still dignified yell and stumbled forward as Sarge’s hackles echoed through the snow.

Tex smirked at him before remembering Church was nearby. She spun around and saw Doc-O’Malley making their way out of the snowy clearing while Church stood next to Lopez. Tex’s eyes widened and she leaped to her feet. 

“Church! Get away from there!” she screamed at him. 

“I can’t let this explode and kill everyone! I have to stop it!” he yelled back. 

If she had any hair, Tex would have been pulling it out of her skull at that point. She stepped forward, near frantic. “No you don’t! You don’t have to do anything for anyone! You’ve done your part! Fuck everyone else! Take care of yourself!”

Church’s steps paused and he straightened up. He scratched at his helmet. “Huh, honestly that philosophy _sounds_ a lot more like me. But… I _hate_ when things are my fault… so…”

“Goddammit, Church,” Tex hissed as he began walking toward Lopez again. 

Wyoming’s grunt alerted her to him, but she was still sluggish either from the freezing of her joints or the pounding she had gotten earlier before Sarge and Tucker found her. She let out a growl as she was at least able to turn the momentum with her and send both of them into the snow instead. 

As they struggled, she felt rope rub against her armor and looked down to see just that. 

“Are you trying to tie me up? Do you think you can restrain me through lameness and cliche?” Tex snarled at him.

“Why, as a matter of fact I do, Dear Tex!” Wyoming replied firmly. 

They continued to struggle and the winds howled louder. Tex struggled as the joints of her armor began to resist command. They hadn’t built the robot bodies in mind of a need to heat themselves – but Tex realized Wyoming was beginning to struggle in the cold as well.

A smug smirk worked its way back to her face as Tex realized she only had to outlast him. 

He shoved her further into the snow but Tex allowed him to exert as much energy as he wanted just before a spark of electricity lit up the skies behind them. Her eyes widened.

“Church!” she yelled, realizing too late that Wyoming took advantage of the distraction and delivered another blow to her head. The screen before her eyes went fuzzy and by the time she was online, she was staring down the barrel of a gun. 

“Any last words for a former teammate?” he chuckled over her.

She might not die, but Tex suspected the sting of being shot was going to a bitch so she readied herself, chest growing tight with anticipation.

“WYOMING!” 

They both flinched back, stunned at the outburst, before Wyoming looked toward it just in time to get kicked in the face by a familiar gray boot. 

“You left me for dead, you son of a bitch!” Wash snarled. “You want some last words of your own?”

Pushing against the restraints of her body, Tex wobbly got to her feet. “No! Wash! Forget Wyoming – O’Malley! _Church!_ We have to stop the Doc and get Church away from the machine on the fritz out there.”

“I already have the others on the machine,” Wash snapped at her, barely even glancing her way as he honed in on Wyoming. “I’m not doing _anything_ until I wipe Wyoming off the map like the grease stain he is.”

“My, my,” Wyoming coughed, sitting up in the snow. “Quite… quite the vengeful one, aren’t we, mate?”

Wash’s entire body was quivering. “You have _no_ idea.”

“Washington, our first priority is _Church!”_ Tex snapped. “They want him to do something and whatever it is, if he does it, it’ll be bad for _all_ of us!”

“I don’t care,” Wash hissed. “Tex, you have _no_ idea how little I care about that right now.” He pulled his rifle off his back and took aim at Wyoming.

“Then get it over with already! We have other things to do!” Tex ordered just as Wash took a shot.

They both stared at the bullet hole made in the snow pile that Wyoming had been leaned up against.

“What the hell?” Tex asked, mystified.

Washington looked ready to lose it. “No – wait! No! _NO!_ Wyoming! Where are you– What are you–” She watched as her partner went completely still. His shoulders dropped as if realization had dawned on him. “That weather machine… Wyoming’s temporal distortion unit… the Alpha… those capture units I saw–”

Tex squinted at him. “What the hell are you going on about?”

“I’ve done this before,” Wash almost whispered. “Oh, god. I know what this is – it wasn’t me. I just. I remember–” He whipped around, looking toward the center of the storm where the colorful simulation troopers were all gathered around Lopez. “No! Tell everyone to get away from there! Tex, get on your radio! I don’t have one! You have to tell everyone to run because the Alpha was never able to win this one!”

“What!?” Tex yelled just before there was a flare of red sparks from the center. 

She watched as her friends began to scramble away from the Reds’ robot – all except for Church. 

“No!” Tex yelled, stepping forward just before there was a burst of electricity, almost like wild lightning, erupting from the belly of the Reds’ robot. It exploded outward just before it hit Tex, and immediately she watched as all of her systems crashed. 


	34. Recovery Two X: Part of the Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I’m finally getting these updates more regularly than my other stories, which considering that a Recovery None chapter is usually about twice the length of my other stories’ updates feels like a huge accomplishment haha. 
> 
> Special thanks to Zambo, Yin, @prettyarbitrary, @notatroll7, MeteorAtDusk, @secretlystephaniebrown, staininspace, @analiarvb, @icefrozenover, @washingtonstub, addleton, and @godoflaundrybaskets for the feedback!

Looking in the mirror, North ignored the bristles of barely visible hair over his sullen cheeks in favor of examining the puff of bruised skin and slight swell of his eyelid around his black eye. 

Theta fretted by his shoulder but did his best to stay on the side opposite of North’s damage, as if seeing it alone was causing his distress.

“I _told_ you to put more coolant gel on it,” South snapped bitterly from her seat behind him. Her foot jittered as she sat cross legged and looked around the waiting quarters Control had set up for them. “What’s the fucking point of the future if you don’t use all the amazing drugs and technology available to us?”

“I could put an order in for some aspirin, too, North,” Theta offered. 

North frowned into the mirror a bit and shook his head. “Would you two stop it? I’m fine. Do you think I’ve had a military career without ever dealing with a black eye?” he asked before glancing toward South. “Do you not remember how many I got just from living in the same house as you?”

South snorted and crossed her arms. “Like you couldn’t dish out as much as you got. Big baby.”

“I’m fine,” North reiterated, with a shake of his head. He then refocused on South, as he tended to. “By the way… South? Is it necessary to keep your helmet on?”

She looked at them, visor glinting. “What?” she snapped back. “You want me to get a shiner like you? We’re already twins, North. No need to match in the lame department as well. No matter how much the family would’ve loved a photo-op.”

Frowning, North tilted his head at the response before Theta shrugged at him.

“She’s got a point, North,” he said. “No need to expose more eyes for punching. Maybe you should put your helmet on, too. For safety.”

“Get off my side, kid,” South said with a surprising lack of heat. 

“As much as I enjoy you two _not_ threatening each other,” North said, finally turning fully toward his sister, “I’m going to redirect this conversation back to the matter at hand. That being now that we’ve infiltrated a high security Freelancer base, captured and turned in the Counselor, and have managed to do all that without any misfortunes befalling Charon’s charter team, what use are we to Control?”

The question set heavily on the room, South crossing her arms and huffing at the very thought of it before glancing back meaningfully to North. “What we always are to anyone, North: guns to be pointed where we’re needed next.”

However true, the answer set on North’s chest as heavily as his own question had. His nostrils flared and he glanced off, again concerned how much of the apprehension toward that particular truth was his own and how much of it was his young and naive partner.

Theta rubbed at his head as he projected between the two of them, visibly unsettled. 

“I think they _must_ have something planned,” Theta revealed, looking back up to them. “I mean, they have us here. They gave South that awesome armor upgrade. And they gave us these quarters. They must want to keep us for something more.”

“Me,” South argued immediately, uncrossing her legs at last. “They want to keep _me_ here for something more. And it’s because of _me_ that you’re allowed to tag along. You know, and not be shot dead on sight. So you’re _welcome_ for that.”

Rolling his eyes, North sighed. “Right. Okay.”

“Don’t do that!” South hissed. “Don’t act like I’m delusional just because I know for a fact that – for _once_ – I’m the asset twin here and you’re collateral. Because that’s exactly what’s going on right now.” She huffed and pushed off from her chair. “Don’t see _you_ in fancy new armor.”

North watched her carefully before sending a sly look Theta’s way which was likewise returned. He then followed his sister cautiously. “South, do you know something you’re not telling me?”

"Newsflash, brother,” South snapped, “being a twin doesn’t grant you the magical right to _everything_ in my brain.”

It took a lot of energy from North to not immediately roll his eyes at her again. “You know, you’re always more sassy when you’re avoiding answering something.”

“You’re an ass,” she said as if to just prove his point. 

“Fine,” he sighed. “Working partially in the dark has never caused a team to fall apart right before our eyes before. Why be concerned with it now?”

South took pause at that, turning to give North a thoughtful look over before taking a breath and shaking her head. “We’re not Freelancer,” she said lowly. “We were a team _before_ Freelancer. We’re still a team _after_ Freelancer. Even if _you_ ruined the Dynamic Duo element by insisting on bringing in a sidekick.”

Theta hummed with disappointment.

“Then talk to me,” North pressed. “Do what Freelancer wouldn’t let us do all along. _Act_ like a team. Like…” He carefully put a hand on his sister’s shoulder, squeezing it. “Like _family_ , South. Come _on.”_

She stared carefully at the ground before looking back to North. “I will let you know everything that is going to effect you,” she told him. “What Charon wants from my armor in the field _won’t._ Trust me. I won’t let it.”

The wall she put up was firm, but North forced the crack of a smile he had left in him and pointed at her. “So it _is_ the armor.”

Letting out a growl of aggravation, South smacked away his hand and tried to walk off just as the doors to their quarters slid open.

Immediately, both twins stiffened and turned to face the door. Theta knowingly faded out, avoiding the upcoming situation with everything in him. 

For some reason, North was unsurprised to see their “teammates” step through the door and stand off to the sides like common guards as Hargrove stepped fully through. 

"Scared of something, Hargrove?” South asked bitingly with a nod to the other soldiers. “What? Don’t trust us?”

“Your sense of humor is noted, Agent South Dakota,” Hargrove drawled with no sense of amusement to be found on his own face. “And as you both should well know, _trust_ is a boon best _earned_  first.”

“Ah huh,” South muttered as she crossed her arms.

North raised a brow at the former Insurrectionists. “There must be a cheat code or something if you’re counting these two as _trusted_ already, Sir. I’d be happy to hear what it is so we don’t waste anymore of each other’s time.”

Theta sighed in the back of North’s head, nervous energy still springing from him. _Don’t push it, North. I don’t want them to hurt you._

The concern, while touching, was not something North needed. 

“I have a favor to fulfill in exchange for some very valuable information from our newest captive,” Hargrove informed them, his eyes settling on South. “It seems your former counselor desires one last session from you, my dear. And by giving him it, he is willing to give us all the information we require in order to capture both this renegade agent which has been taking UNSC experimental property for its own devices, and our mutual interest, the _Director_ of Project Freelancer.”

Insides twisting at the thought of the Counselor’s mandatory sessions, North looked warily to South. “I don’t know about this. He’s obviously up to something. Why would he want another session with you.”

“Because I did something he wasn’t expecting,” South said simply as she stepped forward. She began cracking her knuckles. “He still in the interrogation room?” 

“Yes,” Hargrove replied, watching as South walked past them. 

“South!” North called, making his sister take pause. “Just… be on your toes. Don’t let him under your skin. That’s what he probably wants.”

She stared at him over her shoulder for a moment before cracking her knuckle again. “Don’t treat me like I don’t know what to do,” she warned before continuing on her way out.

North let out a long sigh and tried to ignore the fact that he and Theta were left alone once again with Charon’s curious crew. 

* * *

There was a nearly infinite number of ways that the meeting could have gone, and South had only reasoned through a dozen of them by the time she reached the interrogation room’s door. 

Stopping by the oneway glass, she peered in at the Counselor. It was irritating to have him there, waiting quietly and expectantly. His head was not hung in shame, there didn’t seem to be a crease of worry on his brow. 

Cool and collective. 

But the worst part was when that all stopped and the man tilted his chin up, bright eyes honing in on the oneway mirror before him and seemingly staring straight into her soul. Just like all the times they had met before.

South wondered how many times he had practiced that exact maneuver in the time since Hargrove left him alone. If she hadn’t been expecting him to pull out all the stops, she might have been caught off guard by the seemingly knowing, piercing glare. 

But that was one difference between then and all the times they had met before. It was no longer the _Counselor’s_ turf they were meeting on.

It was _her’s._

South walked smoothly toward the door, shoulders back and head high. There was no reason to put on an airs, having captured the Counselor she knew he was aware of her current changes and, more importantly, her current alliances. So she had to go with intimidation on what he _did_ know rather than what he _didn’t._

When she burst through the door and the man didn’t flinch. 

“You have a lot of balls to actually _ask_ for me to come in here with you,” South said immediately, heading toward the seat across from him. “Not sure _what_ you were thinking there, asshole.”

“Hello, Agent South,” he replied gently.

For a moment, South simply stared across the table at the man, feeling all former outrage she had held for him begin to boil beneath her skin. She then slammed her fists against the metal, ignoring the ringing _cling._

“You know what? _Fuck you._ You don’t get to choose how this plays out,” she hissed before raising to her feet.

“I was hoping this could be more cordial, Agent South,” he called to her softly. “You are, after all, still one of _my_ agents.”

South paused mid step and took a heralding breath. Her eyes closed as she did all she could to keep from flying into a rage right then and there. 

Fists clenching at her side, she turned on her heels and marched to the Counselor’s side, leaning into his personal bubble, watching as he shifted back away from her. South’s smile split largely across her face as she grabbed his shoulders to keep him still, to keep him from moving away. 

“Let’s get this straight right the fuck now,” South snapped in his ear. “I was _never_ under your control. Got it? I was _never_ one of your team players. You were _never_ going to see me to my full potential, and it’s not because it wasn’t there. It’s because you didn’t deserve to see it. Didn’t know _how_ to see it. And it’s cost you. It’s cost you your little project. It’s cost you your freedom, your _future._ And it’ll cost you whatever else the _real_ Control thinks it’s worth to him. _That_ is what has happened here today, Counselor. How does that make _you_ feel?”

His eyes were dulled and heavy as they looked back at her, but they weren’t _satisfying._ They weren’t _afraid._

If anything, they were _sympathetic_ and that was _so_ much worse. 

“I have always believed you had full grasp of your potential,” he informed her. “Merely, it was my job to assist you with what you could _not_ see… and that would be your greatest downfall.”

“And what would _that_ be, Counselor?” South demanded. 

"Your inability to see your limitations,” he informed her coldly. “Your inability to watch yourself, or to in the very least have others cover your back.”

South stared at him before sniggering and finally pushing off from his chair. “Setting my damn trackers, eh? Clever, Counselor.” She returned to leaving in stride. "I know I’m supposed to talk to you about something Control wants from you. Me talking to you is some big part of the deal, quite frankly I don’t care enough to continue this. I fail to see how you being stubborn and so rotting in a prison cell without any sweet deals is anything but beneficial to _my_ conscience.”

At first she was met with silence and South looked back over her shoulder just long enough to shrug at the Counselor’s silence. But as she moved to the door, she heard his chair scoot. 

Turning fully, South faced the man she had learned to utterly despise. 

“Before you leave, Agent South,” the Counselor called out smoothly, “may I ask you one thing.”

“You can do whatever the fuck you _feel_ like doing,” South answered with a snort. “Just don’t be too reliant on me answering you with anything but attitude.”

He tilted his head toward her meaningfully. “What do you believe are the true intentions of giving you everything you wanted?”

Despite herself, South took a breath and dropped her shoulders. “Now just _what_ the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“In Project Freelancer, you were denied many things that were known to be goals of yours – certain listed accomplishments that would have made you feel successful in light of your hard work and effort for the program,” the Counselor acknowledged. “Leadership. Independence to _choose_ whether or not to be assigned to your brother’s units. And most of all, to be assigned something _special_. Something which _you_ could be entrusted with above all others.”

“Is this supposed to be making a case _for_ yourself?” she asked snidely. 

"I am drawing a point, Agent South,” the Counselor continued, arching a brow. “I merely wish for you to reflect on what the cost of your current reward reaping truly is. For you’ll find that the Chairman, for all his prestige and connections, is not a generous man. That his motives and his desires do not so cleanly parallel your own. That _you_ , Agent South, either _have_ or will be _expected_ to earn your positive reinforcement from them.”

South narrowed her eyes. “You think _everyone_ is as twisted as your program?” 

“It is the world you now live in,” he advised. “And Malcolm Hargrove is an intricate part of _that world._ So if it is of any concern to you, I would recommend only the highest of caution.”

For a moment, she let the warning sink in, then South turned back to leave. 

“Do tell the Chairman, if he’s not listening in, that I am ready to negotiate,” the Counselor continued as South left. “Thank you for your time, Agent South Dakota. I hope it has been enlightening.”

“Shut the hell up,” she snapped but did not stop and did not turn to face him. 

She had things to think over first.

* * *

North hated to think how the stale quiet would have messed with him if he hadn’t the advantage of a chatty AI nervously rambling in the back of his head at all times. Once before, he would have given anything to surround himself with the sorts of people who helped him fill the silence, and often succeeded. 

In the last few years, he had learned to appreciate quiet and a peace of mind, as rare as they were to come. 

He wondered if Hargrove’s current lackeys could have ever appreciated the value of being left alone. 

“I appreciate the extra guard,” he informed Hargrove and the former Insurrectionists. “Really, though, I hate for you to put such valuable resources on hold for my sake. I know I’m valuable.”

“We’re not here to _protect_ you while your sister’s giving the prisoner undivided attention!” Sharkface snapped. 

North’s eyes rolled. “And here I worried dry wit would be too dull around here.” With a casual smirk, North looked to not-CT instead. “You ever thought in helping him invest in the value of good sarcasm?”

“I believe my colleagues have a more purposeful meaning behind their address, Agent,” Hargrove said smoothly, raising his hand to quickly silence his more loyal soldiers.

“Oh?” North asked.

 _Careful,_ Theta whispered fervently. _I do not like him, North. I do not like him at_ all. 

There was a tired sigh in the back of North’s throat as he nodded just a touch to ease Theta. His eyes sharply returned to Hargrove, though, ignoring the ever present sting reminding him of the last turn he did alone with the Insurrectionists. 

“My men merely wish to make one thing above all else clear to you,” Hargrove continued lowly. “And _that_ is your place among my ranks. Particularly when your far more valued comrade is not with you.”

“You could save a lot more time by just calling her my sister,” North said sharply. “After all, I figure we all have each other pretty damn well now, _Chairman.”_

The businessman looked at North with a complete lack of interest, the kind of look that would have been cutting from a superior officer in Freelancer or even just the military before it. 

But it wasn’t the kind of look a leader gave either. It was the kind of robotic oversight of someone who did find something _human_ and _considerable_ in what he was looking at. 

For some reason, North couldn’t help but remember the Counselor and wonder how South’s interrogation was going.

“You are here because we require your _sister’s_ cooperation and considerable expertise compiled over her time both with Project Freelancer and the Recovery Unit,” Hargrove continued darkly. “You are here because you provide some amusement. Because you are a _brain_ attached to an _AI_ that is _my_ property as Chairman of the UNSC Oversight Subcommittee. And you are here _only_ because of those things, not because your talents are particularly useful to me or because your insights are invaluable. You are at the bottom of this totem pole, and my soldiers would like for you to be reminded that in a choice between them and you, _you_ are not even worth the consideration.”

“Pleasant,” North bit back. 

If a computer program overlapping brainwaves could facepalm, North was fairly certain he could feel it in the back of his skull.

“It is the truth, Agent,” Hargrove continued. “I like to believe those I place in my employ are capable of accepting it.”

“Yeah, just not liking it,” North huffed, glancing toward the door hatch just above Hargrove’s head as the light lit up. 

When the door opened, everyone shifted to accommodate South’s entrance. She paused, tilting her head at them before continuing the rest of the way in.

“I was gone for almost fifteen minutes, and none of you even moved?” she pointed out curiously.

“Fifteen minutes was _not_ a lot of time for an interrogation,” Hargrove returned shortly, his squinty eyes narrowing even further at her. “Did he release any information?”

“To me directly? Of course not,” South replied candidly.

“What!?” the Chairman hissed.

“Hold your horses,” she ground out in return, holding up her hands. “He merely wanted to talk to me. I don’t know what you have on the fucker, but he’s been playing with _me_ from the very start. He just wanted a _follow up_ on one of our old appointments, I guess. Toy around a bit.”

North watched over his sister’s head as the Insurrectionists clutched tighter to their weapons. Without even a second thought, Theta began calculating maneuvers and escape plans for them, though they seemed unnecessary given South’s confidence standing before them.

“Then he had no intention of sharing information with us,” Hargrove said, sounding bitterly disappointed.

“I can’t speak to that, but I can tell you that what he told _me_ is that he’s ready for another one-on-one with you in thanks for filling his request,” South continued. “So unless you want to throw _that_ particular offer away, I say you’ve got hope for whatever plan we’ve been working toward all this time.”

Hargrove scowled and turned toward not-CT. “If this is all true, then I am going to need you to go back to the dig site and begin supervisions for relic uncovering and restoration. The peace talks have been making plenty of headway and I don’t like what these compromises are spelling out for our… _current_ relations.”

“Sure thing, Sir,” not-CT nodded, putting his rifle back over his shoulder. “I’ve been wondering when we’d get back to excavation and this spy stuff isn’t exactly something I’ve been enjoying.” His head tilted back toward North and South. “And I miss working with my own team.”

South glanced to North who merely shrugged in return. It was all good news as far as he was concerned – less they dealt with those two directly, the better.

Theta couldn’t help but hum in agreement.

“Then I am sorry to disappoint you,” Hargrove announced to all of their surprise. 

“Sir?” not-CT asked, wavering in his balance.

“As we need to move quickly and efficiently at all fronts, I will be assigning Agents North and South Dakota to your outpost, though you will of course be taking the position of leader on the excursion,” Hargrove explained.

“What?” South snapped. 

“Oh, great,” North sighed, putting his hands on his hips as he shook his head. 

“There will be _no_ tolerating of those who question my judgment here, is that understood?” Hargrove growled out, silencing the room’s protests at once. He glanced among them before turning back to the door and waving toward Sharkface. “Come. It’s time we worked on those armor enhancements.”

Sharkface chuckled and ground his fists together before following Hargrove out the door. 

North blinked before looking to South. He didn’t miss the flinch she gave at Hargrove’s last statement. 

“Enhancements?” he asked lowly.

“Don’t worry about it,” she warned. “It’s just better to keep moving.”

North narrowed his eyes but he didn’t disagree, even as not-CT shook his head and led them out the door.

* * *

The heat from the desert was expected, as was the irritating grind of the sand. 

What South hadn’t expected were the relics and temple, the dig site and the equipment.

As best as she could remember, the deserts on the colonized planet had been used for only a few simulations and training, but even the nearest simulation base was far from the excavation site. Which was somewhat ironic considering how much of the planet was covered by the desert itself. 

North stood just behind her to the right, silent and observant, head tilting from time to time as if listening to the whispers of someone South couldn’t see. It didn’t take her many guesses to figure out just _who_ that could have been. 

Still, she huffed and approached her brother, watching as he straightened and peered back at her from behind the visor of his helmet. 

“You ever see anything like this on the Freelancer records?” she asked with a nod to the ancient temple.

“No,” he said quietly. “Neither has Theta. But he can confirm that they’re alien.”

Though the effect was lost with her helmet on, South exaggeratedly rolled her eyes and shoved an elbow at her brother’s side. “Well, no _shit,_ North. Tell him thanks for the update.”

“I can hear you,” Theta reminded her over the radio.

“Good,” South replied snarkily. 

With a few more steps toward the ongoing dig, South found herself sobering up, however. Her head shaking in bitter disappointment as she tried to put everything together. “If these things are here – if we’ve had access to this shit all this time and Project Freelancer really _was_ trying to get a small platoon of super soldiers ready to fucking defend humanity from aliens…” Her shoulders dropped and she looked around, feeling the twist in her stomach she had when not-CT had informed her that the war was all but over. “Why didn’t we ever use these facilities? Why didn’t we at least explore them, do a simulation or two with a potential future battleground? Just… _why?”_

North didn’t have the answers she was looking for, South knew that. But still, almost out of habit, she looked to her brother regardless and waited for his input. 

The sharpshooter looked out over the landscape for a moment, as if more than a little daunted by its scope, then looked back to her. “Maybe that wasn’t the point at all.”

“Then what _was_ the point, North?” she all but demanded. 

“Don’t know,” North sighed. “Just wish I had started asking those questions a hell of a lot sooner.”

South scowled at him, not daring to remark how similarly she may have felt, before trudging off after the Insurrectionist in CT’s armor. He was standing by one of the larger pieces of digging equipment, looking over a data pad from an armored guard with the Charon science insignia patched to their shoulder. 

“Hey!” South snapped just as not-CT handed the pad back and sent the guard on their way. “I need some answers.”

Turning swiftly on his heels, the Insurrectionist shook his head. “Let’s get this straight early into this little working relationship of ours,” he hissed. “All those stunts before? They’re over with. I’m in charge here, and _you_ are obviously out of the loop. So you wouldn’t know the difference between an antimatter particle beam and your own asshole here. That’s dangerous to our excavation. That’s dangerous to _everyone._ And I’m telling you to not do anything, say anything, or more importantly _touch_ anything while we’re forced to work together.”

South stopped and raised her brows. “Grew a pair since the last mission?”

“You’re on my turf now,” he corrected. “And I’m not about to lose all my progress with getting out anything useful before the Magistrate and UNSC comes to make their own assessment of the temple.”

“Magistrate?” South repeated before narrowing her eyes. “You mean the aliens!? They’re coming _here?_ What the actual fuck!? It’s _one_ thing for the war to be ending, but for them to be waltzing onto a colonized planet with the UNSC as goddamn tour guides!”

The man tilted his head at her, the yellow lenses of his helmet doing more to portray his displeasure with her pestering than words ever could. “Go tell it to someone who doesn’t _already_ know how shit this all is, alright? I’ve got a lot of work to pick back up on since I was assigned to following _you_ two morons everywhere the past few weeks.”

Her lips curling with a growl, South began to step forward only to be pulled back by her shoulder. She whirled around and locked gazes with her brother for just a moment before he looked to not-CT.

“We’re sorry to get in the way. You’re doing important work. We can see that,” North said smoothly. “And you’re in charge.”

Obviously looking for North’s angle, not-CT tilted his head again. “Yeah.”

“It’s just that we’re taken aback. We spent several years dealing with Freelancer on the inside, and we have an intimate knowledge of the simulation stations on this planet,” North explained further. He nodded toward some of the alien equipment being carted off by the scientists present. “It just seems odd, with all the equipment and weapons we tested for the program that they never tried to use the resources right under their noses. Or to at least make us aware of the planet’s potential.”

Not-CT huffed, taking the bait. “Well, fuck. Maybe if your people in charge weren’t so content with robbing Charon Industries of resources in their little Space Race feud, they would’ve had a department dedicated to it. But they didn’t. They squandered time and resources for everyone,” he snapped before turning back to the excavation. “Now we’re almost out of time and still can’t get this damn temple open.” He paused mid step and looked over his shoulder at the twins. “And I fucking _meant it_ when I said don’t touch anything. Not a fucking _finger_ , got it?”

When the twins gave no protest, he continued forward, yelling orders to the diggers.

“I can’t believe this,” South grunted, stepping toward a pillar and looking over the glyphic writings. “All this stuff that could have helped with the war. Why wouldn’t the Director at _least_ be interested in it?”

"Well, not that I think you or I are in danger of being on _Team Freelancer_ again anytime in the near future,” North said lowly as he came up alongside her, “but let’s hold out just a moment or two longer before completely jumping to the Charon ship here.” 

Curious, South watched as North pointed toward the very alien tech that was being loaded onto one of the jeeps. It was old, not rusted but dented and scuffed, unused. And there was no light or sign of energy signature that she had witnessed in her time actually involved with the real war.

“After all,” North continued with a shrug, “how useful can something be if it doesn’t turn _on?”_

“Well, sounds like our employer thinks there’s a key to turning it on,” South hummed, tapping on her chin. “Wonder what it could be.”


	35. Recovery Zero XI: Memory is the Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah man AH MAN. So I’m hoping this chapter is exciting for you guys as it is for me. I mean, not exciting in the action sense (don’t worry, we’ll get there sooner than you realize!) but because there’s a few threads that are tied up here that I’ve been anxious to get to for a LONG time. So this was incredibly relieving. Also I can’t help it, I love dialogues and Zero chapters are full of them.
> 
> Special thanks to @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @xhauntedangel, @notatroll7, @washingtonstub, @ephemeraltea, Zambo, Yin, and @godoflaundrybaskets for the feedback!

It was quiet on the barracks floor. 

Carolina didn’t remember exactly what led to her deciding on sitting on the floor rather than at any of the seats or in the beds. She had a faint reminder that York not about to be joining her anytime soon with the stunt she pulled probably helped. 

After all, York might have agreed to go further with their plans, might have agreed that the Director deserved anything they were about to be throwing at him, but he didn’t agree to Carolina’s implantation. And he _definitely_ didn’t like it. 

 _So you don’t think getting punched in the cafeteria was after my doctorate?_ Epsilon whispered in the back of her skull.

“No, of course not,” she scoffed, pulling her knees further into her chest. “And you’re doing it again.”

 _Huh?_ Epsilon asked.

“Not _your_ doctorate. You’re an AI fragment. You don’t have a doctorate, they’re _his,”_ she reminded him. Her hair fell over her face again and she let out an angry huff, sending the strays fluttering back to the frame of her cheek. 

 _Right,_ Epsilon acknowledged darkly. There was a note of anger in his tone that Carolina didn’t like having directed at her.

“Hey, cool it,” she ordered, scowling at the empty air ahead of her. “Don’t shoot the messenger. Besides, _you’re_ the one that pointed out that if I don’t catch you when you do that, you don’t put the memories in the right order – give them to the right person.”

 _Fine!_ Epsilon spat in aggravation. 

Carolina found herself compelled to cross her arms over her chest, though it was far from the emotion _she_ was feeling at the moment in time. She quickly jerked her arms away from the motion, asserting her control again.

“Epsilon,” she warned.

 _Sorry. Sorry! I’m just… I’m…_ the AI flittered around in the back of her mind, a strange and alien feeling. It was like crawling and retreating from their shared thoughts to the implants and causing a disruptive hum. 

It was nothing like the harmonics of the dual sensation with Eta and Iota. 

“You _have_ to keep this together,” Carolina reminded him, rubbing at her face. “You don’t want to prove York right, do you? Give him any room to brag in your little dick waving contest?”

 _Hell no!_ Epsilon snapped. _It’s just… It’s just that…_

When Epsilon’s voice faded out into a long sigh, Carolina straightened herself up and stared expectantly ahead. “It’s just _what_ , Epsilon?” 

 _You’re being awesome and patient while I go through these decrypted memories one by one,_ Epsilon assured her. _And I know we’re not supposed to go too fast for all those reasons Delta warned about and stuff… but… We’ve gone through so many. And we’ve decided where so many of them belong – to the Alpha and to the original human brain they were copied after._

“Right,” Carolina pressed, not completely following. 

 _I guess I’m just wondering when we’re going to get to_ me, Epsilon shrugged. _I mean… if I’m not human. And I’m not the full AI… hell, just_ who _am I supposed to be. If I’ve got all these memories but none of them belong to just me… I mean, just what the hell am I supposed to do with that?_

Quietly, Carolina considered the situation, then she recalled their conversations from before. 

“Remember the first time I came into the storage facility?” she asked.

 _You mean the first time you_ broke _in,_ Epsilon corrected with a snicker. 

“Remember the first time we started talking to each other?” she asked.

 _Yeah!_ Epsilon responded, beaming. _Yeah, I totally do. Didn’t even have to decrypt anything for it either. Weird._

“I don’t think it’s that weird,” Carolina replied smugly. “I think it’s just easy. Easy because that was _you_ , you.”

 _What makes you think that?_ he asked suspiciously.

“Well, neither the human brain nor the Alpha would be able to answer that question for me, now would they?” she reminded him. “That’s all you, Epsilon. And this journey? That’s been only you. You’re free of the other AI, of Project Freelancer, of the _Director_. Every step you’ve taken since you stepped away from them with me, that’s been you and only you. Congratulations.” 

“Holy shit!” Epsilon finally spoke up over the speakers. 

Carolina watched as his avatar appeared  before her eyes. He clapped his hands together happily. 

“Carolina, I think you’re right!” 

“Of course I am,” she said with a confident smirk. “I _always_ am. It’s what I do.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he laughed back. As he paused for a beat, Epsilon tilted his head at Carolina. “You know, Cee… You’re right about that for you, too.”

Caught off guard, Carolina stared back at the AI. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve always kinda been defined by your position to others with the program, too,” he reminded her. “Even in Recovery, you kinda classified yourself based on knowing what the others didn’t. Never just on _you_ and what _you_ were going to do with it. So I think this whole journey is good for you defining yourself, too! Congrats!”

Her blood ran cold for a moment as she leered at the tiny blue AI.

Epsilon flinched back. 

“Um, was it something I said?” he asked. 

“Don’t go rutting around in my head without permission, Epsilon,” she warned him.

“What? Everyone’s been treating _my_ brain like it’s an open book. Plus _you_ are the one who put me in here,” he reminded her haughtily.

“Move onto something else,” she snapped again. 

“Yeesh, fine. I’ll never celebrate your victories over damning self depreciation again!” Epsilon disappeared from view and grouched into the confides of her brain. _I’ve gotta concentrate to get through this code anyway. So. Poo poo on you._

Carolina rubbed at her eyes tiredly. 

Epsilon was doing most of the work, of course, but it was still exhausting her. There was the constant encouraging – or at least the closest Carolina was capable of giving – and then saddled beside it the constant guard she kept on her own mind. The need to be ready to keep things from going too far, and the consciousness of being able to pull Epsilon should things get bad. 

So far they hadn’t, but Carolina knew that York was justified in his apprehension at the end of the day. 

Wash was a good soldier, and Epsilon incapacitated him for months. Just in a matter of hours. 

Stubbornly, Carolina kept the belief up that it was different for them. That unlike Wash, Carolina’s own life experience gave her some frame of reference – she could uniquely work _with_ Epsilon to decipher his twisted up and crossed memories. Specifically because she had the forewarning to do so.

But in her guts she knew it couldn’t have been the only factor when dealing with hers and Epsilon’s integration. There was a variable that wasn’t in play yet, and it could spell just as dangerously for her as it had for Washington. 

She hoped it wouldn’t.

And she hoped that the twisting in her guts, that _guilt_ she felt knowing Wash never had a chance to try what she was trying, would quell with time as well.

“Hey,” Epsilon spoke up, his sprite appearing once more.

“Something interesting?” she asked, sobering herself up to appear more alert to her AI.

“Something _relevant,”_ he informed her. “An Alpha memory.”

* * *

York rotated the last tire on his mongoose, doing his level best to ignore Delta’s sprite hovering not even four feet away. Keeping distant in projection, as if the hum in the back of York’s mind wasn’t a constant reminder of their infinite sharing of space. 

Normally he would have taken it as a compliment that Delta wasn’t correcting his posture or techniques and instead allowing him to work at his own, human pace. But the apprehension of the AI was self-evident.

So Delta’s uncharacteristic silence was serving to rather piss him off.

“ _Dee_ ,” York warned.

“I have said nothing,” Delta retorted a beat too quickly.

“And that says _everything,”_ York snapped, looking over his shoulder. 

The green AI sighed, shoulders dropping slightly but otherwise not expending too much power into projecting an emotional reaction. Delta was getting worse at hiding them, though. They were still _there_ when York paid attention to that part of his brain. 

“You are agitated,” Delta said in that tone that was part of the way to accusatory. 

“How observational of you,” York seethed before returning his attention to the vehicle maintenance that was completely unnecessary but at least made him feel better. 

After a moment of reflection, Delta rephrased. “You are upset with us.”

“You’re not wrong,” York huffed, narrowing his gaze on the tire and wondering if he kept angrily cranking away at it if it would burst from the power of his rage.

The _logical_ part of him debated the fantasy’s merit. 

“You are upset with _me,”_ Delta finally admitted, as if it was pulling one of his nonexistent teeth.

York stopped working long enough to release a long sigh and run his hands through his hair. Balancing the wrench on his knee, he shifted to face Delta’s sprite directly and scowled. 

“Explain something to me, Delta,” York said lowly. “How is it that I can’t know what side a friend is on when that friend _shares my head_ with me? How’s that even possible?”

Delta seemed to reflect on the question for a moment before cocking his head to the side. “I would assume it is because friend or not, they are an independent party capable of their own rationalities and decisions.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad to hear you feel like you have a sense of identity from all of this,” he seethed before beginning to turn back to his ride.

“Of course, that would only be the case if I were _not_ to see myself as standing with you,” Delta continued, his projection flickering out then reemerging right in front of York. “Which is not the current case.”

“Isn’t it?” York asked skeptically.

“It is not,” Delta nodded reassuringly. “I am standing with you, York.”

York sighed, lowering his head. “Dee, you can’t just keep saying that and then run around and… and I don’t even know.” He looked back to the AI angrily. “I can _see_ that you’re up to something. You’re always ten steps ahead of me, I get it. But this… this is a whole new level. It’s like you’re not even in the same _race_ as me! Or…” 

As he trailed off, York looked away from the sprite and shut his eyes, sighing softly. The air was so stagnant and unchanging. 

“Or what, York?” Delta pressed.

“Or you’re planning something you don’t want me to be a part of at all,” York replied finally. “You’ve got something you won’t tell me, Dee. And that’s _weird._ Because you’re in my _head._ But you’re not sharing what you know or what you’re doing next even though _my_ brain is apparently just an open book.”

For a moment, the AI went quiet. Even his normally insistent humming slowed to a pause. 

“Would you like for us to set up new perimeters for my implantation?” he asked somewhat reluctantly.

“I want you to be honest with me,” York corrected. “I want you, Dee, to trust me with whatever plans you have. _That_ is what being on my side of whatever this stupid situation is means.”

That seemed to genuinely surprise Delta. “I believed acting in your best interest, however that might have been, was being on your side, York. I apologize, I must have been mistaken.”

“Oh, stop that,” York rolled his eye. “That would’ve been something I fell for two years ago, Dee, but I know you a _little_ better than that now. Give me some credit. You know how I work.”

“And you know how I work,” Delta reminded him. “So why do you question my motivations, York? You know I will only ever do something that best benefits you. It is my primary operation.”

“I don’t like not knowing what the hell everyone’s planning,” York ground out. “You want something – something that _isn’t_ getting off this planet immediately or else you wouldn’t have redacted on that plan earlier. You want something and it has to do with Epsilon.”

“No,” Delta replied simply. “It has to do with _memory_ , York.”

“Memory?” York repeated quizzically.

“Memory is the key,” Delta explained. “It provides answers and questions to which I have not concept of yet.”

York reflected on what Delta had said before regarding his relationship to Epsilon and, at once, his mind snapped. “You’re… brothers. Fragments of the same whole. Epsilon’s memories… They’d be your memories.”

"More like a shared origin, a starting point,” Delta explained. “Knowledge of where we came from. Answers to what I really am, for I fear that it is more than simple logic.”

“Yeah,” York marveled, looking at the AI. “I mean, of course you are. Hell, I coulda told you that.”

“Yes, but it is prudent to have full knowledge,” Delta responded lowly. “Knowledge is power.”

“Knowledge is key,” York nodded.

“No, York. I designated _memory_ as the key in this particular metaphor,” Delta replied dryly.

Laughing, York shook his head. “Okay you sarcastic little shit,” he said, sitting back on his haunches more relaxed. “Man… It’s honestly really relieving to know what’s going on now. You couldn’t just tell me that?” 

“I did not inform you of the exactness of my plans,” Delta acknowledged. 

“Yeah, but as long as you’re not starting a cue in my brain, I find that a little more livable,” York remarked.

A certain coldness radiated from Delta at that. “Please do not joke about such things, York. I would never wish to override you.”

“You’re right, stupid joke,” York said. “Sorry.”

“For what it is worth, I apologize as well,” Delta sighed. 

York relished the comfort of the moment, taking a deep breath as the ground crunched behind them. He glanced back expectantly to see Carolina in full armor standing. 

“Cute,” she remarked. Her head tilted up and she looked over the vehicles. “Everything ready to go?” 

“Should be,” Epsilon’s cocky voice carried before his blue projection appeared on Carolina’s shoulder. “He’s been out here _forever_ with them. Like what the fuck, York? Are you rotating tires or doing some self-maintenance.”

“Hey, Dee,” York scoffed, reaching for a rag to wipe off his gloves. “How much you want to bet I can hit an incorporeal sprite hard enough to make it wince?”

“That appears to be a losing bet,” Delta hummed. 

“Okay, enough,” Carolina said, stepping around York to head to her vehicle. “I want to get moving. Epsilon’s memory is giving us a good lead, but there’s still a chance that the Director has moved on from that particular secure location. And if he hasn’t, there might be an unknown time window for when he will. Regardless, we need to get there _fast_ and work on the next stage of the plan from there.”

York frowned and put on his helmet. “Listen, Carolina,” he began, walking to her side as she jumped onto the mongoose. “I’ve been thinking about this and, now that you and Epsilon have figured out where the Director might be… maybe it would make some sense to back off on the implantation some?”

“What the fuck’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Epsilon demanded.

“He thinks I should pull you now that your usefulness to our mission is up. For the time being,” Carolina translated passively.

“What!? No way!” Epsilon spat back.

“Carolina,” York groaned. “It doesn’t make any sense to keep this up. He can operate from, I don’t know, your armor again! Hell, your vehicle! But your implants–”

“Are fine,” Carolina said firmly.

“I do believe York has a good point,” Delta spoke up. 

York looked to his friend in surprise. He felt something refreshingly warmed in his chest from the sentiment. 

“You are newly integrated as a team,” Delta continued. “And there are, as you both know, side effects to even the best of implantations. While mild, they _do_ decrease field performance. It makes sense to separate while we move forward.”

Carolina and Epsilon both fell quiet, staring at the original Freelancer-AI duo. Only the mongoose’s engine filled the silence before Epsilon began shaking his head.

“Wow. Fucking _betrayed,”_ he sneered mostly at Delta.

“I am merely speaking from a logical point of view,” Delta attempted in vain. 

“Just drop it,” Epsilon huffed, flickering out of sight.

York looked to Carolina more directly only to get a cold chill from the glint of her visor. “Lina…”

“Your suggestion is noted,” she said sternly. “But let me remind you _both_ that who I choose to share my thoughts with,” she turned her gaze on York more, “and who I _don’t_ are _my_ decisions. And whether you like what I ultimately decide or not is _not_ a concern of mine, frankly.”

Giving a sigh, York put his hands on his hips. “Reading loud and clear, Boss.”

“Good,” she said, revving once. “Get on your vehicle and let’s go.”

Without much more of a choice, York did as instructed and headed toward his own mongoose. Not even the freshly turned tires did much to lift his spirits in the heat of the moment. 

 _I apologize for not being enough of an assistance there, York,_ Delta whispered to him.

 _You were on my side, buddy,_ York sighed back, getting onto the mongoose. _And honestly? That’s all I need in the world right now._

Not a moment later, Carolina tore out of simulation training grounds and York followed suit, hoping that Epsilon’s sense of directions had improved drastically since their last attempt at moving forward on their inane venture to find the Director of Project Freelancer.

* * *

Having Epsilon in her head after that particular stunt was more like having an angry hive of bees fighting for her attention. Carolina kept her concentration on the road before her, she tried to concentrate on Epsilon’s fairly decent directions as they scrolled by on the corner of her HUD readout, but mostly she tried to not add to the anger any more herself.

Which was difficult considering she was _pissed as hell._

 _Can you believe the nerve of them!?_ he spat out between her ears. _And Delta! Holy shit, I thought Delta was my friend. I thought I could count on Delta. You can’t count on anyone. We can’t. I can’t. Cee, they– I just. AGH!_

“Calm down,” Carolina demanded despite the grit of her own teeth and the tightening grip she had on her handlebars. “You’re going to just upset yourself more and make things worse.”

 _Oh, so you_ agree _with them now!?_ he growled. _Well that’s just fucking_ great. _Why don’t you just pull me? Throw my chip to the mud and back over it!_

“I’m angry right now because _you_ are proving _them_ right and I _know_ better,” Carolina snapped. “So, Epsilon, get a goddamn hold of yourself!”

A quiet, stewing anger nestled deep in Carolina’s mind. It was a familiar feeling, one she wore like a pair of gloves, except she knew it was not native. Because when she felt that burning anger, it burned in her chest, not in her head where it clouded and made fuzzy everything else.

“Epsilon!” she warned, hoping the distance between their vehicles and the rumble of the motors was enough to keep York from overhearing them. 

 _I’m sorry,_ Epsilon finally said, retreating some from the feelings. _Do… do I need to be pulled?_

“Absolutely not,” Carolina said firmly. “Listen, if anyone’s more stubborn than you, it’s me. And we agree on something. Therefore, we’re a force to be reckoned with.”

Epsilon hummed in thought. _I think I like that._

“Good,” Carolina responded with a smirk. 

The moment didn’t last too long, however, as the roads became more paved before them and a darkened city exit became more apparent. It was one of the last docking points between them and their final destination of finding the Director and, in a sense, the last chance to go with Delta’s original plan of evacuating the planet entirely intact. 

It didn’t give Carolina even a moment’s pause. 

What did, though, was the blip of frequency signature up ahead. An emergency beacon – a _recovery_ beacon picked up on her radar. 

And it was a familiar one at that.

“What the hell…” she muttered just before York pinged her on the shared frequency. 

“You seeing that, Boss?” he asked as he pulled up alongside her.

“Hard not to,” she answered, looking carefully at the signal. 

Epsilon grew nervous and restless. Anxiety began to build over the unknown. 

“Maine took us down like it was nothing last time,” York reminded her. “Delta thinks that the overpass should keep us clear of him. You now, since I can almost guarantee you’re going to reject the offer of driving outside of city limits to avoid detection and add a few hours to our drive.”

“The overpass will do,” Carolina agreed, pulling onto the ramp. 

There was a distinct sigh as York followed suit. “Thought so.”

It took only a few minutes on the new guided route for Carolina to notice that the blip was moving just a touch slower, but in the same direction. 

Slowly, it all came together. 

“The Meta is going for the Director, too,” she marveled. “I thought – I _always_ thought he was. I followed him for so long, _certain_ that he was doing that right until the very end. I thought the Counselor’s theory about him going for equipment and AI didn’t make any sense, and I was _right!_ That wasn’t the ultimate prize. It wouldn’t be the ultimate prize for _any_ of us.”

Beside her, York tilted his head as they drove forward. “Okay? Any particular reason we couldn’t just let him handle business then?”

“Because he’s _mine!”_ Carolina argued angrily. 

“The Director?” York clarified.

“Both of them!” she snapped before pulling to a stop. 

A few feet away, York managed the same, breaking and turning around to face Carolina as she looked off the overpass toward Maine’s beacon. He looked to her, then the overpass, and back. 

“Carolina, what are we doing here?” he demanded.

“You’re watching the vehicles,” she ordered, cutting the engine and jumping over the front of the mongoose. “Keep watch, but don’t give me backup until I ask for it.”

“What the hell _for!?”_ he demanded, grabbing for her hand only for Carolina to pull away. “Carolina!”

“You don’t get it, York,” she told him. “The Director is unfinished business. _Old_ unfinished business. But the Meta? It was my mission for Recovery. And I’d like have more _finished_ than _unfinished_ business if I can manage it.”

“Don’t do this,” he said before Carolina stepped onto the ledge. “It’s complete _nonsense,_ Carolina! Think for a second.”

She looked over her shoulder at him before stepping off the side. 


	36. Recovery One XI: Time Travel Shenanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything is just colliding and I’m just really excited that we’re getting to see at least the trails of where the three stories’ events are effecting each other. And I think if you’re sharp you might catch onto even more than the overt ones ; ) I’m super excited here and I hope you guys are, too! Part XII is going to be something else!
> 
> Special thanks to @freshzombiewriter, @xhauntedangel, @ephemeraltea, Yin, @secretlystephaniebrown, @analiarvb, @washingtonstub, CABRALFAN27, staininspace, and @redvsblue-ninerse for the feedback!

Wash’s head was swimming – _no._ Not swimming. It was drowning in the white haze. There was snow, light – a blur of white complete with senseless noise and aggravating lurch of his stomach as he tried to tear his way through it. 

He tried to remember what had happened – ground himself, make sure it wasn’t all just a hesitant dream – but he didn’t have _too_ much opportunity to do that because he was being hit over his back. _Hard._

“Guess he _did_ make it, didn’t he? Shame. Thought there’d only be the two of them to deal with.”

The words were – vaguely threatening? Familiar? _Worth_ the effort of getting away from the man giving them at all cost.

Wash felt the ground under his palms and knees, knew up from down, then grabbed the arm attached to the hand at his back and twisted hard to pull the red armored man down to his knees.

 _Red._ Wash was _really_ starting to hate that color–

“Whoa, there, fancy Freelancer britches! How am I supposed to use my shotgun without my trigger hand?”

Blinking, Wash pressed through his instincts and initial alarm to realize he was staring at the back of the Red Sarge’s armor before him. “ _Sarge?”_ he asked just for punctuation.

“Whoa, what the fuck, dude! Let go of him!” Grif cried out somewhere behind them. 

It all began rushing back to Wash at once. The attack on Wyoming, the blizzard from the weather machine, Alpha – it had all been happening so fast he couldn’t quite place what had happened when it all went off with a bang.

Donut was standing with the others, pointing at Wash like it meant something. “I told you guys he was going to murder every Red he saw! He’s an animal! And mean! And he yells because he has bad hearing. Man I’m glad I don’t know anyone like that. I mean, I’ve been told I’m a screamer, but usually only when someone was really giving me a reason–”

“Alright, Donut! _Christ!_ We fucking get it!” Grif yelled, throwing hands over his helmet.

Looking back at the others was when it sunk in for Wash just how terrible they and their surroundings had looked – armor scuffed and denting, Simmons seemed to be sparking at odd joints, and the surrounding plains once covered in snow were barren, wet, and desolate looking. The snow melted away. 

It was also then that Wash realized that all of Red Team’s weapons were pointed his way. 

Without anymore hesitation, Wash dropped his hold on Sarge and held up his hands unassumedly. 

The Red Team leader gathered himself up off the ground, snapping and snarling about _Dirty Blue_ and _Dirtbags_ as he gathered his trusty shotgun. Everyone generally seemed to be more set at ease once the Red was returned to them. 

Save Caboose who was simply looking at the blackened hole in the ground toward the center of the melted snowcaps. 

“What happened?” Wash asked, feeling a certain expectant unease. The kind that told him he was going to regret asking the question even before it had left his mouth. 

“Well, it’s going to be difficult for you to understand, Blue, because every other Blue we’ve explained it to already has huffed and taken off! Completely in denial of the truth!” Sarge announced proudly.

“Which is okay, I lived in denial for _years,”_ Donut explained, seemingly refreshed with Sarge back in their care. “You start to wear it like an old glove after a bit.”

Wash squinted at them. “Can you not just give a straight answer?” 

“No,” Simmons said very firmly. 

“Not in our core programming,” Grif added before letting out a very fake laugh. “Get it? Because it’s all Lopez’s fault we’re in the future?”

The comment was so ludicrous and off the cuff that Wash’s mind skipped over it at first, ignoring it like he did _most_ things that came out of the troopers’ mouths in all honesty. But at some point the words replayed and he was left with the _in the future_ phrase stuck at the forefront of his mind. 

So Washington stared at them expectantly before letting out a long, painful, “ _What?”_

“Grif! You’re giving away the surprise!” Donut snapped angrily.

“What _surprise?_ What the hell are any of you talking about?” Wash demanded angrily. 

They all looked at each other, then back to the Freelancer. 

“Well, Wash, we _were_ going to tell you through an elaborate metatextual play on the subject that Donut worked very hard on writing, producing, and directing,” Simmons explained. 

“But since you’re being an ass we’ll just tell you straight up. Fuck easing you into the harsh truth,” Grif spat. “The harsh truth, of course, being–”

“The bomb and the weather machine doohickeys combined to detonate in Lopez’s tummy. An explosion so _grand_ , so _massive,_ so _unexpected_ , that it had the power to blow all of us into the far, far future,” Sarge explained with grandiose hand gestures to accentuate his statements.

For a moment, Washington allowed the words to run through his mind. He stood blinking and silent, but it didn’t take much longer than that for him to clench his jaw and then his fists. 

“That,” he said lowly. “Makes. _No._ God _damn._ Sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Sarge pressed, getting in Wash’s personal space to a rather uncomfortable degree. “Or does it just so happen to be the _most sense that has ever been made_  utilizing the technology of a giant megaton bomb, the theoretical powers of a weather machine, and the sheer willpower embodied in a robot built by yours truly?”

Washington stared at Sarge in utter disbelief for a long few minutes before he noticed his eye was suffering from what felt like a random stigmatism. “I have never met a more ridiculous group of people before in my _life_ , fucking hell.”

Donut turned more toward Grif and Simmons, arms crossed over his chest. “I told you my play would have been the best way to break it to him. Wait! We can still do it! Quick, everybody get in position–”

“We are _not_ in the future!” Wash roared. 

“Oh, yeah? _Prove_ it,” Grif demanded.

“I don’t have to prove it! There’s no need for proof for something that is obvious!” Wash snapped. 

“Then how do _you_ explain the fact that, by the time we arrived in the future, the snowcaps had all melted?” Simmons asked, pointing to the melted wasteland around them. “That would have taken thousands of years!”

“First off,” Wash snapped, “no, it wouldn’t take that long. Have you never heard of global warming?”

“They probably don’t believe it,” Caboose said from right behind Wash, making the already stressed Freelancer nearly jump out of his armor. “They _are_ Red. I think it’s against their platform.”

Whirling around on Caboose, Wash couldn’t help but throw up his hands. “What? Caboose? Where did you– when did you move from–” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Nevermind, it’s not important.” He then turned and faced the Reds again. “The reason everything melted is because of the explosion given off by those machines crossing. Not to mention we _saw_ the power of that so-called weather machine. _That_ had something to do with the change in weather. Not time travel.”

They all stared back at him. 

“That sounds stupid as fuck, Wash,” Grif informed him dryly. 

Reaching a point where he could justify either a rampage or trying to reach unconsciousness again, Washington opted to sigh and drop his head. There were not enough nerves in the world for him to be able to get further into the conversation. 

Which made the somewhat condescending patting on his shoulder even worse as he glanced toward Caboose.

“It’s okay, Agent Washington,” Caboose offered. “I like your story better.”

“Thanks,” Wash ground out. He then looked the group over, taking a moment to be amazed with how worse for wear they all looked. “I don’t know how much more this armor is going to be able to take, honestly.”

Sarge hummed and put a hand on the chin of his helmet. “Time travel _did_ seem rather difficult on it–”

“Shut up,” Wash warned. He glanced toward Grif and Simmons. “You said you tried to spill this nonsense on Tex earlier and she wouldn’t listen.”

“Yeah, you guys in the neutral colored armors are kind of dickheads like that,” Grif replied. “What? If you get to a certain level of assholery do the reward you with the special ops armor or something?” 

“It’s amazing you’ve not gotten to collect on that scale then,” Simmons told Grif wryly. 

“Or me,” Donut said, drawing everyone’s attention. “I’ve been collecting assholes for _years–”_

“ _Someone_ tell me what direction Tex walked in already, for fuck’s sake!” Wash cried out. “Does anyone have any idea? Or hear what she was doing? It’s important!”

They grew silent again, but only long enough for Sarge to apparently remember he had all the desired information. The old man snapped his fingers together and chuckled in celebration for what he probably figured was his own genius. 

"Well, _after_ she proved incapable of accepting the reality of our time travel–”

“Please stop talking about it like it really happened,” Wash begged.

“Our temporary Red took off for the hill over there,” Sarge said, pointing toward a structure in the distance that looked like fairly solid metal tucked between two rock ledges. “There was some kinda bunker over there where we stuffed Tucker before the Big Blue Bang.”

“An equipment bunker,” Wash elaborated, realization dawning on him. “It makes sense, there were bases here. They probably had a nearby site for storage of equipment and armor–”

“Whoa whoa! Hold up, they still make armor in the future?” Donut asked. “Did they ever get better about the coordination?”

“Why would they still make armor in the future? Are we still at war?” Simmons asked nervously. 

Grif let out a low sigh, head dropping as it shook. “Of fucking course there’d still be this miserable, stupid, _useless_  war.”

“Everyone _stop talking about being in the future!”_ Wash yelled. He then hesitated, reflecting on what Sarge had said. Despite himself, he turned and looked suspiciously at the Red Team leader. “Wait. Why Big _Blue_ Bang?” 

“Because it blew up that Blue leader guy,” Sarge chuckled. “Poor blue devil. Not a trace of him – Simmons thinks it’s because the explosion blew _him_ into the past.”

“Not my fault,” Caboose said miserably.

Washington blinked slowly, trying to let the explanation sink in, but he couldn’t. He could _not_ accept it at face value. “I… Just forget it. I don’t care, and yet that’s somehow still more caring than this situation deserves.” He looked around to all of them. “You’re all idiots.”

“And now I miss Church all of the sudden,” Caboose sighed. 

Washington looked Caboose over before giving a frustrated sigh. He grabbed Caboose by the wrist and started for the bunker. 

“Everyone come this way. I need to talk whatever happens next through with Tex,” Wash ordered.

As he and Caboose found their stride, he let go of the Blue’s wrist. But it wasn’t long after doing so that he realized that there were not bootsteps behind them. He paused long enough to turn back and see the Reds staring at him.

“What _now?”_ he groaned.

“Donut said you killed a Red in cold blood right in front of him,” Simmons informed Wash, a worried tremor in his voice.

“Not exactly the kind of company we like to keep,” Grif added.

“And I most _certainly_ don’t follow a Blue under _any_ circumstances!” Sarge bellowed. 

“Fine, stay out here and continue your shared delusion about time travel. I _really_ don’t care,” Wash said, trying to ignore that at that point it sounded more like he was trying to convince _himself_ of the level of his not caring rather than anyone else. “Caboose, Tucker, Tex and I will just raid the armory and get our upgraded replacement armor and weapons with plenty to spare.” He turned back and nodded to Caboose. “Come on, Caboose. Let’s go.”

As they continued up the incline, there was a loud murmuring between the Reds before what sounded like a stampede coming up behind Wash and Caboose. 

“Quick! Get those upgrades right out of their grimy Blue mitts!” Sarge order. 

“Sarge, don’t they already have two Blues waiting on us at the site?” 

“Simmons, not now! Concentrate on storming the bunker!”

Wash and Caboose both watched as the other Blood Gulch soldiers took off past them. Though, Wash couldn’t watch with anything that amounted to more than _dull surprise._ He merely shook his head and continued forward. 

He wondered why he couldn’t have taken the Tex route and just walked away from the group entirely without trying to argue. 

* * *

When Tex had “woke” after the blast, she was faced with a few harsh realities. 

The first was that her robotic frame was wholly unreliable at the end of the day when her enemies seemed to know more about its intricacies than she did. The second was that once more the Alph– _Church –_ had slipped through her fingers. And the third was that in spite of everything, the simulation troopers continued to prove to be useless. 

Sparking, exhausted, and madder than hell, she drug herself through the bunker. The explosion had done a number to the protective shell around her body, but the equipment inside the bunker had been advanced enough it had O’Malley and Gary’s attention so she held some hope that it’d let her self repair. 

Tucker had been safely kept away from the explosion and nonsense of before, still laying facedown on the floor just by the entrance, so Tex stepped over him in aggravation. 

She succeeded in saving Tucker, but not in saving Church from the very monsters who wanted to shock him with his friend’s demise. Tex couldn’t help but wonder if that was any degree of irony.

Tex shifted through the available tools and equipment before finding some parts and a trove of Mark V armors that she hadn’t even been aware were out of testing yet. Though, as she considered it, she supposed they probably _weren’t_ and that would have been why they were there to begin with. 

“It’ll do,” she decided before getting into working on them. 

Completely concentrated on her repairs, Tex tried to ignore the nagging sensation in the back of her head, the one that begged her to consider just _why_ her old AI and Wyoming took Church, what could have possibly been gained by it all. 

And she tried to not consider just why the very AI that had once sat horrifically obsessed with her, with fueling her sense rage and betrayal, seemed suddenly disinterested enough to leave her behind. 

It felt like the more that Tex accepted that being Beta was a part of her, the less she understood about what exactly that meant. 

Her repairs were well underway when her sensors picked up on _something_ just outside the bunker door. 

In less than a breath, Tex as on her feet and aiming her sidearm at the door as it opened only to be faced with Wash’s familiar frame. He gave her a look that spoke volumes even through their armors and Tex lowered her weapon just as Caboose came lumbering in.

“There’s Tex!” Caboose informed Wash and the group of Reds trailing in behind them. “Oh… but there’s Tucker. Aw. Well, _maybe_ if Tex is here and Tucker is here, _Church_ will be here! I’ll start looking!”

“And there’s the armors!” Simmons said, pointing to the cache Tex had already raided.

“Well, what do you know? A Blue didn’t completely lie to our faces,” Sarge guffawed. “His loss. Woulda kept that to myself. Dibs on the best one!”

“Dibs– _dammit!”_ Grif hissed as they all piled into the bunker around Washington and the unconscious Tucker. 

“What are you doing?” Wash demanded as he began to lower onto his knee and check on Tucker. “What happened here?”

“I’m repairing myself,” Tex said simply. “And Tucker’s fine. I knocked him out and left him here before any shit went down.”

“So Sarge was telling me,” Wash replied. There was a glint to his helmet as he looked up at her. “By the way, _thanks,_ partner, for leaving me to be woken up by the Quantum Leap subscribers out there.”

“Thanks for going completely nuts on me out there and leaving an opening for Wyoming to use, _partner,”_ Tex snapped back. “Now, because we couldn’t get our shit together, we’re stuck here with no clue where they took Church, who they’re working for, or with any real soldiers to back us up once Wyoming recruits more simulation troopers.”

Wash lowered his head as Tex laid out the facts, quietly stewing.

He began to sit the groaning Tucker back up before Wash got the nerve to look at her again. “And all this time you were just letting Tucker chill out on the floor?”

Tex thought about it before crossing her arms and shrugging. “He knows what he did to get on the floor to begin with.”

“Agh, my jaw,” Tucker moaned. “I think she broke it.”

“Doubtful,” Wash replied, clapping a hand on Tucker’s shoulder. “For one, your helmet’s not even cracked. Secondly… Well, you’re _talking.”_

“What’s that got to do with a broken jaw?” Tucker asked, looking more and more awake before looking around the surroundings. “Whoa! Everyone looks like absolute shit! What’d I miss?”

“A few things,” Wash informed him before nodding to where the others were messing around with the armory. “But you need to go and save yourself some decent equipment while you can. We’ll catch you up on the rest soon enough.” He then turned his head back meaningfully to Tex. “The _Freelancers_ have some things to clear up first.”

She held his gaze intently, ignoring how Tucker’s head bobbed between herself and Wash the full time. 

“Dude, what the fuck did I wake up in the middle of?” Tucker asked, sounding mildly concerned before looking over to Tex. “And where’s Church?”

“We’re working on figuring it out,” Tex responded thinly. “Tucker, Wash is right. Go suit up. This new armor is–”

“The way of the future!” Sarge howled.

Despite himself, Washington released a full body sigh and dropped his shoulders at the Reds’ enthusiastic declaration. Tex almost felt sorry for how much the sim trooper shenanigans was getting to him but, in truth, it was beginning to grate her considering just how much _more_ time she had spent with them all.

Tucker seemed unmoved. “Tex, _really,_ what’s going on?”

“We’re trying to figure it out,” she said simply. “If you want a half baked explanation, ask Sarge.” 

For a moment, Tucker didn’t seem like he was going to leave at all. Then, reluctantly, he got to his feet and headed over to the armors, waving Caboose to follow him. “Come here, Caboose – you don’t even have one of your boots. Fuck’s sake. Who’s in charge of these armies?”

Slowly, Wash rose up to his feet and looked seriously to Tex. 

“We need to get the Alpha – _Church –_ away from them,” Wash said firmly. “Whoever they’re working for, I can almost guarantee that we won’t like what they have planned.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Tex replied dryly. 

“Then what’s the plan?” he asked. 

“Get Church back,” she said. 

He appraised her for a moment before letting out a long sigh. “ _That’s_ it?  _That’s_ your plan?”

“You have something more solid?” Tex demanded. “We have no idea who they’re working for or what their plans are. We don’t know where they’re taking Church or what for. And we can’t keep dragging this group around with us with a fantasy of accomplishing anything.”

“I know, we’re putting them at risk,” Wash muttered, voice surprisingly tinged with guilt. 

Tex glared at him. “No, Wash. _Because they’re fucking slowing us down._ But yes, that, too. They’re a liability if Wyoming’s go-to plan was to assassinate Tucker to get to Church–”

Like the flip of a switch, Wash stiffened and grew cold. His head snapped up to look at her. “ _What?”_ he hissed icily. 

"What? You think I _only_ knocked Tucker out because he was obnoxious?” Tex asked before glancing over to the Blues. She watched as Tucker and Caboose devolved into throwing armor plating at each other to the Reds’ amusement. “Asshole didn’t even thank me for saving his life yet.”

“We need to stop Wyoming permanently–” Wash began, turning toward the weapons.

“Oh, shut up,” Tex snapped, grabbing the other Freelancer’s attention again. “They already have Church, so their plans have changed. Not that I don’t put it past Wyoming to be a petty fucker and kill Tucker for the sake of things if he gets the opening. But it’s not a priority. Not anymore.”

“Then what _is?”_ Wash demanded.

“Finding out what we can and going after Church before they damage him,” she said simply.

“Well, maybe that’s _your_ priority,” Wash said before turning toward the others. “I have some others–”

“I need your help, Wash!” Tex admitted, gritting her teeth all the while. “I need to know where they’re getting their intelligence, I need to know who’s involved at the higher level here. That’s the only way I’m going to get a clue about what they intend to do with Church and where they’re probably going to take him. _So fucking help already._ I can guarantee that you have the same suspects in mind that I do, so I have to ask: do you _really_ want to let them by with anymore than they already have?”

Stopping in his tracks, Wash seemed to consider it. He then turned and glared at Tex. “I might be able to get back in touch with Freelancer Command. I can’t promise anything, but if there’s a lead I’ll probably be able to get it through them. And maybe contacting them now will keep them from sending out a full search for me. Buy us more time on that front. _If_ they’re not just going to bury the secret of where they hid Alpha all together.”

Tex slowly nodded. “That’s starting to sound like a real plan.”

"It is. You’re _welcome,”_ he said. Wash took a breath before turning on his heel and pointing at Tex. “You have to promise me something while I do this, though.”

“Do I?” she asked sardonically.

“Yes. You _do,”_ Wash continued, unphased. “Until I’m back, make sure none of these guys are used as free brainwaves for your little AI friends. _Especially_ Caboose.”

For a moment, Tex couldn’t even process the comment. Then she clenched her fists. “ _You think I’m friends with them–”_

“I don’t care what you are to them,” Wash said simply. “I just know you’re the only thing short of ripping everyone’s radios and AI slots out of armors that can stop what happened in Blood Gulch from happening again. And, Tex, I hate a lot of things right now, our mutual enemies chief among them. But more than _any_ of this bullshit I’ve been through lately, the idea of _that_ happening again fills me with absolute rage.”

“Look at that,” Tex said, voice gradually becoming more guarded, “we still have something in common.”

“Good,” Wash said. “I’m going to get some upgrades and explain what’s going on to Caboose.” He paused awkwardly before adding, “He’s… clingy when he doesn’t have Church.”

“He’s clingy when he has Church,” Tex reminded him.

Wash nodded and then moved on, and if he heard the sound of the nearest bench to Tex splitting when she brought her fist down on it he didn’t even flinch.

* * *

Wash debated over his words as he left Tex, thinking over them and wondering if they were as necessary as they had felt in the heat of the moment. Thought about how just much he believed his own accusations or not. 

He supposed it ultimately didn’t matter, they still had the common goal – Wyoming wanted Alpha for whatever reason, and Wash was going to make damn sure that his former teammate didn’t get anything he wanted. 

And he couldn’t give a damn about the AI themselves, Tex proving she was just as capable of leaving a trail of damage and pain in the wake of their own personal issues as the others just cemented his distrust for the time. He thought he’d been over it, but there was something about the way Donut’s hurt and accusations were still ringing in his head that bugged him. 

It wasn’t _Wash_ who was the bad guy here, it really wasn’t. It was the AI – if they just knew what the AI and Freelancer did to people Donut wouldn’t have been so mortified by what Wash had to do in order to protect himself. 

Right?

“Caboose, _goddammit_ stop looking at the armors like Church is going to be in one of them. You’re giving me a headache!” Tucker’s voice shook Wash back into reality. 

The sim trooper was working with the paint tool hooked to the armory manifest computer to spray a Mark V helmet to match his particular shade of armor as Wash walked up to him. Tucker paused just long enough to look up and nod to Wash before continuing. 

“Hey, man – you see this? All these lame armors are steel colored, but Donut found out that if you hook these spray can things to the computer, you can change the color of the paint,” he explained. “Caboose already made you a stripe and everything.”

“Huh?” Wash responded intelligently before glancing to the pile on the floor by Tucker. Sure enough, it was the Mark V with yellow accents. “I… That wasn’t really necessary.”

"Shut up,” Tucker said with no heat or meaning to the phrase. He finished up his paint job and almost immediately began to put his helmet back on his head until Wash reached out and stopped him. “Huh?”

“You want to let the gas from the paint settle before you do that,” Wash offered before glancing toward Caboose’s bright blue armor. “Please tell me you guys didn’t–”

“Nah, Caboose and Sarge’s colors are the only ones that were available that way,” Tucker said with a shrug. “Real weird, right?”

“It’s standard issue, so no. Not really,” Wash replied with a dull blink. He then checked out the Mark V appointed for him, testing the paint and the smell before beginning to switch out with his rather pathetic current set. 

“But the rest of the Reds put their armors on right after painting them, so…” Tucker glanced over to them, a look Wash soon matched.

Almost as expected, the Reds were huddled and arguing, though all Wash could really make out was _time_ and _future_ a few dozen times over before he decided he didn’t _want_ to know. So he looked back to Tucker instead. 

“I can only save so many people,” Wash said easily as his final bits of plating clicked into place. 

As the chest piece and his back piece snapped together, Wash hissed with the unexpected sting of pressure on his shoulder. He glanced toward the old injury and attempted to weakly rotate his arm to work it out. He’d spent so long in the busted armor and then the armor they had adjusted for him at Blood Gulch that he forgot to account for the gun wound at all. 

By the time he finished, Wash looked to Tucker and saw the firm scowl set on his face. 

“What?” Wash asked. 

“Are you ready to tell me what’s going on?” Tucker asked. 

"Right,” Wash said slowly, glancing toward Caboose. The Blue was still checking around the leftover armors and humming to himself thoughtfully as he searched for Church. “I don’t suppose you’ve figured out Church is missing.”

“No shit,” Tucker said with a roll of his eyes. He crossed his arms and waited expectantly. “Does this have anything to do with the whole not-a-war and whatever Alpha is?”

Flinching at the questions, Wash glanced to Tucker and shook his head. “Keep that stuff to yourself for now, Tucker, I’m _serious._ We don’t know who’s listening or how people are going to react. You _apparently_ have a possible death warrant without pissing off people in higher places.” 

“Eh, it’s what I do,” Tucker shrugged. He then leaned forward and traced a line against his jawline. “Wanna see how bad Tex got me? It’s awesome–”

“No, I need to start gathering supplies and looking for a quick vehicle to transport me to Command,” Wash said, looking around. “We’re lucky that this place seemed to be stocked up with supplies as much as it was. There’s bound to be some decent vehicles, too, given how remote the outpost is. If I can get a hornet–”

“Whoa, wait!” Tucker called out. “We’re leaving!?”

Before Wash could even rebut the statement, the Reds and Caboose were coming over. All equally alarmed by the assumption. 

“Agent Washington, we can’t leave yet!” Caboose sputtered out. “I haven’t found Church! We can’t go anywhere without _Church!”_

“How much longer is this stupid team up going to last? I’m _starving_ already, jesus,” Grif groaned, rubbing at his helmet. 

“And we don’t have anyone protecting our bases!” Simmons added worriedly. “Well, I mean, _your_ tank. Oh, wait. No. It’s only your tank! _What about Red Base–”_

“How much longer do we have to suffer this peaceful truce!?” Sarge bellowed.

Not needing it to get anymore out of control, Wash held up his hands to silence the masses. “Everyone calm down! No one’s going anywhere!” He almost immediately reconsidered the thought and lowered his hands. “Actually, _I_ am going somewhere. And you all are going back to Blood Gulch. So we’re all going somewhere, but it’s fine.”

Caboose visibly deflated. “You’re leaving us, Agent Washington?” 

Tucker turned angrily on Wash, almost looking betrayed. “Yeah, man, like _what the fuck?_ You just tell me Church is gone and then run off? What the hell?”

Even Donut was looking at Wash with some degree of shock. “You mean after all this, you’re just _going?_ You break up Team Rookies with your wanton violence and then throw us to the wolves!?”

“There is no Team Rookies,” Wash clarified first and foremost. “And I’m not leaving permanently. I’m going to get what answers I can using my security clearances with Command and then will meet all of you and Tex,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to her, “back at Blood Gulch when I’ve found out everything I can.”

“Which Command? Blue Command or Red Command?” Simmons asked.

“Blue, obviously,” Sarge dismissed with a wave of his hand.

“It doesn’t matter,” Wash grunted. “Just… _try_ and not kill each other while I’m gone, alright? When I come back we’ll all have some answers hopefully – Blue Team will know who has their leader, and Red Team will know who has their robot.” He glanced to them. “ _If_ you still care about that.”

Sarge crossed his arms petulantly and looked off. “ _Maybe.”_

“Oh, right! Lopez!” Donut chirped in. “I wonder if he got blown into the future or into the past. And I wonder who blew him there!”

“There _was_ a distinct lack of Spanish in our team mutterings,” Simmons added thoughtfully. “Now I know why!”

Wash pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. 

“You won’t be gone for long… will you, Agent Washington?” Caboose asked, stepping up next to him.

Lowering his hand, Wash blinked a few times at the Blue before forcing a smile. “Sure, Caboose. If I get a hornet, I’ll probably almost beat you back to Blood Gulch, honestly. I just need to get into Command and use one of the central lines to get the information we’re looking for. Now that I know what I’m looking for at least.”

“And this is going to help us find Church?” Tucker asked, tilting his head. “What about you? Aren’t you convinced these people are out to get you or something? What’re they going to do when they catch you snooping around?”

“Ultimately I’m hoping to defuse the situation entirely,” Wash assured them. “But even then, I don’t have any intention of letting them catch me.”

Tucker seemed unconvinced but reluctantly he shrugged. “Hey, what the fuck ever. You Freelancer assholes don’t seem to need us watching your back so whatever you feel like doing, I guess.”

“Just… trust Tex for now,” Wash suggested to everyone before grabbing some weapons. “And just be grateful for the upgrades.”

“From the future!” Donut exclaimed. 

Wash closed his eyes to keep from rolling them and sighed. He finally put on his helmet and started out the door. 

There was still something _nagging_ at the back of his mind, so he paused and looked back at them, figuring they deserved at least a proper send off. 

“I’ll see–” 

The screeching noise popped in his ears and Wash yelped as he grabbed the sides of his helmet, everyone save for Tex repeating the same reaction as the noise continued for a long, irritating moment.

"What–” Wash began to ask only to flinch as it all started up again.

“Wash, fucking stop yelling into your radio!” Tucker yelled. “We’re all too close for that!”

“I’m–” Wash flinched again before concentrating on his volume. “I’m not yelling.”

“Yeah, not _anymore_ ,” Grif snapped. 

“I was–”

“Used to yelling because you melodramatically ripped your radio out of your old helmet forever ago?” Donut asked snarkily. 

Wash squinted at them before turning. “I’m leaving.”

“ARE WE DONE YELLING YET?” Caboose screamed, making everyone shout and flinch again. 

The former Freelancer could hardly get out of there fast enough. 

* * *

Tex hung back, even after Wash had left. 

But once he was gone, her options became more and more strikingly apparent. And the rampant bickering between the simulation trooper fractions became a droning reminder that she was _not_ someone who worked with a team. She didn’t _function_ as a teammate, she was an outlier. 

And if anyone had a chance at getting at Wyoming, O’Malley, and _Church_  before anything went more hellishly wrong, it all lied upon her. 

The others squabbled over the remaining land vehicles and bemoaned the loss of the hornet Wash took, but Tex didn’t pay them any mind. 

They argued over jeeps, Tex went straight for the lone gungoose. 

No one even noticed except for Tucker that she had broken from her near-stasis and began loading up the vehicle. He looked to the arguing Reds and Caboose then walked her way, brow furrowed. 

Tex just eyed him as she strapped down her bags of ammunition. “Put your helmet on, Tucker.”

“Wash said the fumes–”

“There aren’t any fumes anymore. We’ve been at this for half an hour,” she reminded him. When she finished up, she bothered to look at the Blue again and found him still scowling her way. “ _What?_ You look like I shot your dog. Which I haven’t been paid to do yet, so I’m pretty sure I haven’t done it.”

“You’re packing like you’re leaving,” he observed. 

“We all are, genius,” she said back. 

“Yeah, but you’re not packing like you’re going _with_ us to Blood Gulch,” Tucker pointed out, squinting at her. “What are you doing? And what the fuck are _we_ supposed to do once we’re back at the base? The Reds are going to _really_ outnumber us! It’ll be just me, Caboose, and–”

“And Sheila,” Tex reminded him. “You’ll be fine. Besides, you heard Wash – he’ll be back soon. He’s not doing anything too hard. Don’t be a baby, Tucker.”

Somewhat boldly, Tucker stepped in front of her vehicle and brought his hands down on the hood. “You still haven’t told us where _you’re_ going!”

She stared at him intently.

Getting the memo, Tucker lifted his hands up carefully and backed back around to the side of the vehicle instead. “Sorry,” he apologized. “But you really _do_ need to–”

“Tucker, I don’t _need_ to do anything,” she reminded him. “You and Caboose are going to go back to base, stay with Sheila, and wait for Wash and I to bring everything back to you guys.” When she saw her orders only caused Tucker to tilt his head at her, she let out an aggravated groan and snapped, “I’m leaving to do something only _I_ can. Alright? It’s a _ghost_ thing.”

“Okay, fine,” Tucker huffed, crossing his arms. “But after you and Church finish up doing your ghost shit, I think we should have a long talk when you get back. You know. About the fact that you’re computers.”

Feeling like Tucker had just slammed the breaks down in her head, Tex stared at him a good long moment. Then she revved her engine. 

“No,” she lied through her teeth, “we’re _not.”_

Without another word, Tex took off on her own. 


	37. Recovery Two XI: A Deal with the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, so Part XII is actually something that I have been REALLY antsy about getting to for a long time, and so I mean it when I say that while we’re well over halfway done with this story, this chapter will be the last of the status quo as you guys are used to. And I sincerely hope that you all are ready for some of the changes that are yet to come. R2 chapters have been referred to as the wildcards for good reason, but I thin if you’re paying attention you can see just how they’ll be bleeding into all the stories to come ; ) 
> 
> Special thanks to @freshzombiewriter, @secretlystephaniebrown, @washingtonstub, @analiarvb, @ephemeraltea, Yin, Sir_Wobblefish, andMeteorAtDusk for the feedback!

“Huh.”

There were many expressions that North could have used to denote the conflicting lack of interest he had in the dig with his genuine need to investigate just _what_ Charon and not-CT were up to. But _huh_ seemed to be the most adequate. 

South was off doing what she did best, annoying the hell out of their current team leader and generally causing more grief for an already precarious situation. But for North, the real interest came in what could be investigated with the eyes of Charon off of him. 

Namely, that he and Theta could walk around the ruins and find unguarded entrances like the one before them now.

Theta flickered online just over his shoulder and gave a nervous tilt to his head. 

“Are we really going to do this?” the little AI asked. 

North hummed to himself some, looking up and down the ruins’ wall and skimming over the alien glyphs scarring the constructed surfaces. He then looked to his AI. 

“Depends on you, buddy,” he said simply. “Can you translate what any of this says? Is it a warning? Prophecy? Directions to the nearest Covenant Costco?”

With a huff, Theta looked to the walls. He projected closer, his sprite moving up and down as if reading the glyphs with his own eyes farther than scanning them from North’s or the helmet. 

After a few moments, Theta returned to North’s shoulder and shrugged. 

“No clue,” he told North.

“Oh, that was helpful,” North laughed, walking on in.

“Hey, _you_ download an alien language pack that _doesn’t exist,_ and I’ll help you translate!” Theta argued. The AI then went rigid and looked around wildly, a nervous wave pulsing from the North’s implants. “You’re going in anyway!?”

“Well, we don’t know what the glyphs were saying and I have a stubborn streak that our mutual non-friend was igniting, so yes,” North said simply as they carried on through. 

Theta, visibly troubled by the action, kept in pace, but his fingers were nervously tapping against each other. 

“Can I say anything to make you reconsider?” Theta asked.

“Probably not,” North confirmed as they went through.

Giving a heavy sigh, Theta drew back, his sprite flickering out. 

There was a tinge of guilt North felt, but he quickly smothered it. He _knew_ he wasn’t making sharing a headspace completely easy for the two of them, he knew that his reaction to Theta’s newfound independence and questioning of authority left something to be desired. 

But North truly _didn’t_ like it. He _didn’t_ like that Theta was no longer on the exact same page of him, something that AI weren’t supposed to do. 

It had never occurred to him that nurturing Theta’s trust would lead to a personality that North didn’t expect. 

In that way it just felt like something was wrong. Like he didn’t _know_ Theta anymore. And Theta didn’t fully know _him_ anymore. 

 _Is this what raising a teenager is like?_ North thought idly before taking in more of the sights the ruins had to offer. 

The desert had destroyed most of the internal structure through sand and erosion. it looked more like an Earth ruin than any Covenant structure that North had seen for himself before. Given, his time in the military hadn’t exactly given him a tour of local landmarks any of the times they were on foreign battlegrounds. 

But the occasional artifact or structure proved itself to be utterly alien in design, and totally nonfunctional given the conditions. 

North came to a stop by a particular structure that, unlike the others, looked in decent enough condition. He squinted at it and lowered onto his haunches by it, poking at it with his sniper rifle.

Almost immediately, Theta appeared over his shoulder. “ _North,”_ the AI warned.

“I’m not disturbing anything,” North said with a shrug. “Just… checking things out.”

“You’re poking it,” Theta said flatly.

“Got a better way of checking things out?” North asked, tilting his head at the AI. 

“Uh, yeah! I’m pretty sure,” Theta said, a low hum beginning as the AI started to work. “You know. Anything mechanical and incorporated in a readout, anyway.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing,” North admitted, sitting back in wait as Theta finished up. 

“Huh,” Theta said.

With a curious turn of his head, North waved for Theta to continue. 

“It looks like it’s… I don’t know. Just some sort of robot,” Theta explained. “Alien, though. I’m not entirely sure what all its capabilities are. But there _is_ an empty AI slot in it.”

“Really?” North asked, surprised. “Alien AI?”

“I’m assuming, but I think it could be easily retrofitted if you know what you’re doing,” Theta hummed. “I wouldn’t want anyone with access to human AI and dubious intent to be get a hold of it, anyway.”

Catching on immediately, North nodded slowly and got to his feet. “Yeah,” he said, grabbing the device from the ground. “Me neither, Theta.” 

Theta nodded in approval as North walked with the device toward the rubble and holes they had passed before on the way into the structure. They were right at the edge of one particular spot when there was a communication bing on their channel. 

The two glanced at each other. 

North gave a nod and Theta activated the channel.

“North!” South’s voice growled, immediately sending relief between North and Theta. “Where the hell are you?”

“Adventuring,” North answered smoothly. “Why?”

“Don’t waste time asking redundant shit,” South spat. “I need you over here. As in _yesterday._ We’ve got a new development and it looks like Hargrove needs our particular expertise after all.”

“I’ll be right there,” North promised, dropping the alien device into the hole and kicking over one of the rocks to collapse onto it.

* * *

By the time South finished her transmission to her brother, not-CT was all but _fuming_ over her initiative. And it was a good thing that South was wearing her helmet because the satisfaction his frustration brought her gave a clear smile to her face. 

“ _I_ am in charge here and _I_ should be making contact with all operatives,” he reminded her, a not so subtle nod to the screen from Control. 

Ah, so she _was_ showing him up, it seemed. It was a rookie mistake to have let her know that it was going to bother him that much. 

Especially since South would have loved to get a bit more on Charon’s good side _regardless_ of who it meant showing up at that point.

“Hey, you want to be put in charge of my brother, you can spend a lifetime-plus being basically sewn to his hip, _Sir,”_ she said with a shrug. “Besides, with _my_ specialty back on the table, I think we both know just how much longer you’ll be able to say you’re in charge.”

The man leered at her through his visor, yellow lenses gleaming. But he didn’t rise to the bait. 

He didn’t seem to be nearly as simple to deal with as Sharkface, and South didn’t like that too much. _This_ one was a lot more unpredictable, cards held close to his chest.

In a sickening way it reminded her a bit of the _real_ CT. 

Except, South told herself, CT was actually _good_ at her job.

By the time North came up, Control had apparently had his fill of the taught silence between operatives and immediately spoke up. 

“Good, with Agent North here we may begin,” the screen said in its usual, droll filter. “As of three hours ago, our hacked connections to the Freelancer database gave us access to what little circulating feed there is with the Freelancer Integrated Logistics and Security System down. And from that with our codebreaking and the confirmation of our newest Freelancer asset have determined a precise and _moving_ location of the target known as Agent Maine.”

Impressed, South raised her brows. “Well, then,” she said out loud. 

“Maine’s not a simple threat,” North spoke up, stepping alongside South as he glared at the screen. “Theta and I’ve had a run in with him that almost ended poorly for us. He’s… He’s not the same as he was in the program. He’s different. _More_ dangerous.”

Not-CT scoffed, arms folded against his chest. 

South narrowed her eyes and tilted her head at the Insurrectionist. “Have something to add, smart ass?”

“Just that I _saw_ your team in action before all this, before you splintered off into all these petty groups,” he reminded her snidely. His gaze locked back on North. “And I fail to see how Maine could be more dangerous than the monster who could rip off a soldier’s limb in the middle of combat and beat them with it.”

North’s head rolled with what South knew had to be an eye roll beneath his visor and he put his hands on his hips. “Okay, _that’s_ an easy one,” North said haughtily. “ _More_ dangerous as in now he’s aimed at _us_ , and from what I know about it all, he doesn’t exactly look at us with warm and fuzzies anymore.” 

“He _never_ looked at me with warm and fuzzies so I’ve been preparing for this for a lot longer than you, brother,” South responded readily, moving closer to Control’s screen. She tried not to puff up too much when Not-CT realized he had just lost seeming control of the situation. “But North _is_ right, Control. Maine is dangerous. And unpredictable now that he’s not tied to Freelancer anymore. You’re going to need people handling this who _know_ what they’re doing.”

“You’ve got to be _kidding_ me,” Not-CT growled to himself, shaking his head. 

“You are correct on at least one account, Agent South,” Control replied crisply. “Fortunately, our newest asset – the Counselor – seems confident in his ability to know how to handle his former agents.”

South blinked at first, not believing what she had just heard, but then she growled and slammed her hands onto the console. “ _His_ agents!? Since fucking when–”

When a hand fell on her shoulder, South immediately jerked it away only to see after that it was her brother’s. He gave her a gentle glance before looking to the screen. 

“All due respect, Control,” North said in a tone that gave nothing of the sort, “the Counselor of Project Freelancer didn’t do much toward keeping the project together. _Including_ not being able to assist my sister capture the Meta during her time as a Recovery agent. I’d place my bets on _her_ over _him.”_

“I am not a betting man, Agent North,” Control said thinly. “And the stakes are too thin as it stands. Because of this, and because I find the Counselor’s assessment more than agreeable, I am ordering a team of the four of you, my agents, to go on this assignment for subdue and capture of the former Agent Maine.”

The three paused, astonished, before all hell broke loose.

“We shouldn’t be going after him at _all_ ,” North bit out. 

Not-CT, perhaps even more stunned than the twins, pushed between them to get right up on the screen. “You have to be kidding! _Sir!_ My work here has already gone unsupervised for far too long! If we don’t complete this dig before the treaties are signed, anything we find here is going to be _useless_ to the UNSC!”

“And if by _four_ you meant _Sharkface,_ then you can just forget about _subdue and capture!”_ South scoffed. “That angry fucker isn’t going to have _any_ interest in another live Freelancer no matter _what_ you bastards have on him and Connecticut Jones here.”

“As acting leader of this mission, Agent South,” Control said smoothly, “I will be trusting you to see to it that our more… _explosive_ personalities are kept in check. How does that seem to you?”

South blinked in surprise once more, head tilting back as she regarded the news. 

Being in charge again meant her importance to the mission was not going unnoticed. It also meant good things for her standing with Charon, given the precarious situation she and North were in due in large part to her need to jump in headfirst to everything. 

It also stood to _truly_ piss off Not-CT. 

“What can I say?” she asked. “You’re the boss.”

* * *

Theta buzzed with anxiety the entire trip.

North leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes. He still needed to do another weapons check for his own peace of mind, but North had learned long ago to not push himself when Theta’s panic was rising. 

Instead he focused on breathing, on the thrum of the ship engine beneath them.

Then he focused on the relief Theta felt, and the relief _he_ felt that at least one of their old tricks still worked. That they hadn’t changed _that_ about them, too.

"We’re docking to pick up Sharkface,” South told him from his left side, leaning in from the steering column. “So if you wanted to finish your catnap, I’d recommend doing if sometime when the guy who _isn’t_ sworn to murder you is in the passenger seat.”

“Noted,” North hummed to himself, but otherwise didn’t move. 

South’s smartass comment had, unfortunately, sent another wave of terror through the little AI.

Letting out a huff, North concentrated again and rested in the seat. 

It earned an annoyed noise from South as she got on her feet and began to move toward the back. But as she moved past him, she smacked the back of his helmet – too harsh to have been fond if it had been from anyone else in the galaxy. 

He took a breath all the same and waited. 

 _I don’t like this,_ Theta finally said when they were alone. He appeared, just briefly, over North’s shoulder, before disappearing again. 

“I don’t like it either, buddy,” North sighed. “I really don’t. But it’s what we have to do.”

_Why?_

North huffed and rubbed at his visor. “When did you start questioning _everything,_ Theta?”

 _Sorry,_ Theta said in a voice that really didn’t sound at all like an apology. 

Then, a little stronger, the AI hummed in the back of his mind like a plan in action. _He promised he was going to kill us. They_ both _want to kill us. And we’re about to go against something that_ scares _me, North. And I don’t mean in the way that everything else always scares me._

North huffed and steepled his fingers before his face, staring through them. Staring at nothing, really. 

“That’d be the time to do it, you know,” North pointed out bluntly. Being direct – something he really rarely was with Theta. “If they’re going to kill us right under Charon’s nose…”

 _They wouldn’t have to,_ Theta whispered. _They would just have to wait for Charon to make the order._

Taking a moment, North nodded. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah.”

* * *

Sharkface was far from comforting as far as an addition to her ship, but South didn’t have much say in the matter. And she knew that, as tough and flawless as her practiced bravado might have been, she _knew_ that she was at a complete disadvantage that merely grew with each moment she was with Hargrove and his Charon lackeys. 

With each moment she was stuck as a guinea pig in that armor. 

North seemed to be lagging in his methodical routines, and the moment South had greeted Sharkface on board, he and not-CT began scheming together in the back. 

Things were not looking in her favor, _especially_ for a capture rather than a _kill_ of one of the hardest and most bonecrushing teammates she had had throughout Freelancer. 

By the time South flew them into the area of Maine’s signal, she was beginning to question how she _ever_ thought she was going to get out of this arrangement alive. 

Not that it kept North from looking to her rather seriously, rifle already loaded. “What’s the plan, Boss?” he asked.

For a moment, South concentrated on her breathing. It almost felt like all she _could_ do was breathe. She let her brother’s words hang over her as the other two members of their awful team came up to the cockpit and waited for an answer as well. 

The answer didn’t seem to come at first, but as South looked forward through the window she was given a wondrous distraction.

Eyes narrowing, South edged to the end of her seat and watched as – right where Maine’s beacon was projecting from – there was a distant sound of gunfire and a flare of explosions and fighting. 

“Find out just what the hell is going on first of,” she answered, beginning to flip through all of the controls in order to get an enhanced visual of the scene. 

The men shifted around her to get a better view of the screen as well, earning a sneering look from South before she huddled closer to the controls.

“Theta, fix this up, will ya?” she ordered, not even bothering to look toward her brother as she ordered around his AI.

“Uh, sure,” Theta mumbled over their radio before doing just that. 

In an instant, the screen cleared up and amplified the size of the long range picture. Sure enough, standing before them, Maine was clawing and tearing at the scenery like some sort of animal. Destroying everything in his path as he launched an attack after a moving target. 

And that moving target was more than a little familiar. 

“Carolina,” South gritted out. “Why the _fuck_ do we keep running into her? York’s gotta be close then, too, right, North?”

After a beat of silence, South finally bothered to turn and glare her brother’s way only to see his attention elsewhere. He looked back to her with a shake of his head. 

“South,” he said with a sigh. “We’ve got some other problems to deal with apparently. Namely… _being understaffed.”_

“What?” she demanded before looking and seeing for herself that their unpleasant company was already gone. “Son of a _bitch!_ How the fuck did they get past me?”

“You didn’t set your trackers,” Theta offered.

“Shut the fuck up, nobody likes a smart ass,” South barked before looking to the screen and seeing that Sharkface and not-CT were showing up with unexpected speed and finesse to the scene of the Meta and Carolina fighting. 

Cool and unexpected relief hit South in a wave and she leaned back into her chair for a moment to take the scene in. 

It could all still work.

North leaned in closer to her, his helmet tilting to the side a bit. “I know what that face means,” he declared.

“You don’t know what anything means, brother. I’m wearing a helmet,” South reminded him crisply and without dignifying him with a direct look.

“I’m your twin, I know that face. You’re thinking up something,” he pressed. “South, come on now. You’ve gotta keep me updated. If you and I aren’t on the same page, we’re going to _both_ end up losing from it–”

“Those two idiots may have signed their own death warrant by jumping into this fray,” South explained. “My orders were going to be that we should stay back and let this sort itself out. Charon wants me to step back into the Recovery role and bring back former Freelancers and equipment to them? Fine. I can do that, but I can do that first by making sure those Freelancers wear themselves the fuck out and half the number of people we had to fight.”

“But with those two jumping in early?” North continued.

“Then they get twice the work done with half the risk to the team I _actually_ care about here,” South shrugged. “All the same, I’m officially landing this sucker,” she said as she switched into the landing gear for the ship. “And I want you to get on the roof and situate yourself. You’re going to be my eyes _and_ my cover once they’re worn down enough that I’m ready to swoop in. Sound good.”

“Great, actually,” North admitted, readying his equipment as he got to his feet. 

“Don’t sound so surprised, North,” South smirked, loading her own guns as she spun her seat around to face him. “I’m _full_ of fantastic surprises.”

“Um,” Theta spoke up, projecting over North’s shoulder and getting both siblings’ attention. “You might not be the _only_ one with surprises, South…”

Slightly alarmed, South turned to face the screen just in time to see Sharkface deliver a decisive hit to Carolina’s jawline. It was only by shear fortitude and possibly luck that the Freelancer leader wasn’t sent to the floor.

Which was fortunate since Not-CT went for her next. 

The twins and Theta watched in aw for a moment as the fight continued with this three on one onslaught.

“They’re not going after the Meta at all,” North said lowly. 

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Theta added. 

Holding her jaw, South tried to consider everything she was watching, tried to consider the exact people involved. 

In an odd way, _Maine_ was the only one she had the least amount of beef with. But at the same time, she had an objective from Control. One that she couldn’t fail to fulfill because bad attitude and exceeding promise had only gotten her so far as it were. 

“What are we doing, Boss?” North asked again.

South’s eyes snapped forward with purpose before she turned and leered at her brother. “What the hell are you still doing here? Who’s my eyes and cover if you’re here? Get the fuck on the roof, North! Fuck’s sake!”

North saluted somewhat sarcastically before taking off toward the exit. 

With a growl, South pulled out her preferred firearms and shook her head. 

“You sure as hell better thank me for this, Carolina.”

But she knew better. Especially with what she had planned. 


	38. Recovery Zero XII: What Makes Us Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is late because I had to keep taking breaks and punching myself in the feels. I’m not really supposed to have those anymore as a writer so it was important to get those things in line! In all seriousness, I’ve not looked forward to any chapter more than this one so… Hopefully it lives up to expectations. 
> 
> Special thanks to @analiarvb, @freshzombiewriter, @washingtonstub, CABRALFAN27, Yin, @secretlystephaniebrown, @ephemeraltea, and @prettyarbitrary for the feedback!

_While I’m pretty sure I would never have to tell you how much it pains me to ever side with that guy – and, really, Cee, this is absolutely excruciating. We’ll have a serious talk about you causing me this much distress later – York had a point._

_I have no idea what the fuck we’re doing here._

Carolina felt her boots hit the pavement and she glanced around her HUD casually to double check that the direction of the Meta’s signal had not changed. 

When it was clear that it hadn’t, she let Epsilon know to activate the speedboost and modulate it for a short distance. 

He complied, she zipped into position and slid behind the nearest divider on the road. Readying herself for a point of vigilance, cover, and for springing into attack all in one position. 

Epsilon, for his part, waited quietly and cautiously before letting out something of a cough. 

 _By the way, you’re fucking terrifying when you’re not verbally communicating. Were you always this aggressive in your head or is this something special you put together just for me?_ the AI asked, his biting tone doing nothing to hide the vibrations of apprehension and panic he was sending through her implants and mind. 

“Epsilon, _calm down_ or I’m going to _show you_ terrifying,” she warned in aggravation. 

It did nothing to quell his panic and Carolina let out a long sigh. 

“Epsilon,” she tried again, calmer by her own standards. “We do not have time for you to be doubting me.”

 _Okay, first off you and I operate on very different time tables. So in between every one of our_ riveting _conversations, I have what feels like ages to go over all the ways things will fuck up and panic over them. I have_ plenty _of time to be our Debbie Downer,_ he argued. _Second off, I never doubt you. You fucking kidding? You’re the_ guaranteed _part of this really, really stupid plan. It’s_ me _I’m struggling to not doubt here._

Deep down, she knew that. She didn’t have to ask these things, she knew it. 

Just like she was pretty sure Epsilon knew that she wasn’t all that wild about their plan either. Which, upon reflection, probably fed into this spiral of anxiety they were currently going through the motions of. 

But she didn’t have time to sort through these emotional tangents of theirs. She needed them to be in sync, she needed–

She needed Epsilon to be the Delta to her York, and even _she_ knew they weren’t there yet. 

“We can do this,” she told him instead, watching in wait as the Meta’s blip became blindingly apparent on her radar. He would be within view in seconds. “We _can_ and we _will_ do this, Epsilon. Stick to my instincts. Know when I need you.”

 _Right. Okay. Yes,_ Epsilon muttered through her brain. 

“We have the element of surprise,” she continued to whisper.

Her heart raced as Maine’s white armor glinted in the distance. He was coming in on them and he was coming in fast, but his direction wasn’t them exactly. She reminded herself of that again and again until he was close enough that the dome of his helmet – the slight tilt that showed his attention was elsewhere – confirmed it.

Relief and assuredness began to melt over her nerves. 

Epsilon was calming. 

 _I’ll tell you when is the most opportune moment to attack. I’d recommend your magnum for the initial attack,_ Epsilon droned in a surprisingly soothing tone.

With his attention fully on the task at hand, it was as if all his other operating systems fell in line. Carolina made a note of it for future use when his anxiety began to get squirrelly on her. 

 _Sync,_ they thought together. 

Epsilon counted down the very _nanoseconds_ they needed to go before leaping into action, and Carolina could feel the buzz in her head. The counting, the adrenaline – the settling of unfinished business, the missing, empty feeling of not having Niner in her ear as she faced down the Meta one last time.

And in an instant it was gone.

“Carolina! Behind you!” Epsilon screeched over her helmet radio.

She barely had time to roll into action but she managed it with the added boost Epsilon gave from their augmentation. 

Fire poured from the sky onto the very spot where she had been sitting in wait and the heat was intense – melting even. 

Her heart raced as she rolled across the pavement and landed with only some of her usual grace. Epsilon alerted her again and she glanced just in time to catch the fist thrown her way with a well placed block to her left. 

She wasn’t ready for this assault, but she was nothing if not a good fighter in a pinch. 

At least, Carolina was until she noticed the make of her attacker’s armor. Her eyes widened in shock. “Connie?” she asked just before she was hit from behind with a punch. 

Rookie mistake. Carolina cursed and Epsilon raged. Still in sync.

She took the necessary steps back to plant her feet firmly again before taking on another wave of punches and kicks. Carolina took each one as they came, waiting for an opening between the two attackers as she sized them up. 

The one attacker was hauntingly familiar, but she couldn’t exactly place him. The other was too tall and broad to be Connecticut but was wearing her armor somehow. Or at least one very similarly adjusted for him. 

And that was when it struck her. 

 _These assholes blew the break in for us!_ Epsilon seethed. 

"Yeah?” Carolina grunted, taking a feint before nailing the black armored goon in the jawline of his helmet and sending him back a few stumbling steps. “They’re about to blow a hell of a lot more for us!”

Before Epsilon could manage a retort, they heard a distinctive snarl behind them.

Whirling around, both Carolina and the man in CT’s armor faced the approaching Meta. He stalked forward, reaching back and slowly dragging the bruteshot Maine had taken for himself across his armored shoulder and taking aim for them. 

At once, Carolina and Epsilon both thought of fleeing using the speedboost when, without warning, a dozen or so shots fired from the same direction Carolina’s attackers had come from. 

Looking up, Carolina watched as a black and purple armored character joined the fray, firing enough times on the Meta that he took cover behind the very road divider Carolina had before. 

The black armored attacker slid over to join the group just as the Meta began returning fire. They looked them up and down before taking an intimidating step toward the man beside Carolina. 

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing, you stupid son of a bitch!?” she screamed in a voice Carolina had thought she was not about to hear again anytime soon. But it all came together when she remembered her and York’s last encounter.

“South!?” Carolina asked all the same.

South held up a finger and continued to get in the other soldier’s face. “Don’t interrupt me,” she snarled. “Seriously, asshole, I was giving you _orders_ and you disobeyed me? And now we’re running the risk of fucking losing _everything_ we were sent after? Oh, let me guess. _Sharkface_ started this, right? He always has to be the annoying-as-fuck thorn in my side.”

“This doesn’t concern you,” the man gritted out, not backing down from South even slightly. 

"The hell it doesn’t! You just made this a _lot fucking harder!_ For fuck’s sake, we could have at least let them tire each other out, you bastard!” South continued somewhat hysterically. 

“South! Tell me what you’re doing here!” Carolina spat out viciously just as Epsilon had her duck under more of the Meta’s shots. 

Visibly annoyed, South turned just enough to point at Carolina. “Shut up, princess! As soon as I’ve got my ducks in a row, I’m going to arrest you.”

“Arrest me?” Carolina scoffed. “You can’t arrest me – what the fuck are you on about?”

“If I don’t have the power to, I’ll get it retroactively,” South hand waved. “I’m working for the UNSC, more or less. Your ass is grass as far as I’m concerned. You, Maine, and _these fucking assholes_ that don’t now how to take orders.”

“We’re here for Maine _and_ Carolina, doesn’t matter the order,” the man in CT’s armor said viciously.

Carolina watched in the distance as the other unknown soldier got up, reaching for a flamethrower that answered at least one of Carolina’s questions about what was happening. 

 _Run,_ Epsilon advised.

Without a second’s thought, Carolina took off down the road, earning a yell from South. 

But Carolina didn’t stop, especially when in her periphery she saw just what Epsilon had been warning about. There was incoming traffic from the city, a proverbial rush hour breaching, and among the first vehicles was a military truck that the Meta aptly grabbed and threw in their direction. 

 _Okay, so we’ve gotten the Meta’s attention,_ Epsilon pointed out. _Now what the fuck are we going to do with it?_

* * *

York was perched on the hood of the mongoose, leaning forward a bit too much for his balance to account for. But he couldn’t help it – naturally pushing himself toward the binoculars in his hands and watching.

His stomach might as well have been the Gordian Knot with just how much it was twisting at the scene. 

“The particular position you are using helps with weight leveraging,” Delta mused from his shoulder. “Your muscles, taut from the position, are more likely to spring into action given an impulsive decision.” 

York gritted his teeth as he watched yet another unknown drop into the scene with Carolina. He leaned forward more. 

“Overall I would say that you are well aware of this and have planned from the moment that Agent Carolina and Epsilon left to have done something impulsive and ill advised,” Delta continued to sigh. “That is so very much like you, York.”

“She’s getting ganged up on, and she still hasn’t gotten on her goddamn radio to signal me,” York announced, starting a completely separate conversation with the AI. 

“I actually believe your recklessness diminishes when around Carolina, which is a surprising outcome considering her penchant for leaping into problems,” Delta continued. “But I suppose the current situation will be testing your record thus far.”

“Do you think she believes she can’t go to me? Can’t trust me? _Why?_ Because I dared to question her judgment. And look at that, I was _right to,”_ he pointed out, waving to the scene before them. 

He didn’t even pay attention as his volatile position led to sliding quite a bit down the hood of the mongoose. 

Delta paused and considered. “We _could_ continue on our path, trust that Agent Carolina will want to meet us at our destination. But I do know that, by your desires, that is _not_ an option for us.”

When the Meta threw a literal truck at them, York threw the binoculars aside and instantly leapt to the driver’s seat of the mongoose. 

“We’ve got to help her!” he told Delta. 

“As I expected,” Delta responded just before flickering out his sprite. 

* * *

The moment the Meta began throwing things, the plan devolved into a chaotic mess of movement and breathing. 

 _The plan was chaos from the start,_ the thought crossed her mind, though in the bleariness of traveling at an accelerated speed made it difficult to tell if it was _her_ thinking it or Epsilon at that point.

It didn’t really matter. At that rate they were both looking like they were going to be toast.

 _Not to, uh, distract you from the very serious shit going on right now,_ Epsilon’s more clearly defined voice hummed across her brain.

“And yet here we are,” Carolina gritted out, barely managing to jump from one level of the roads to the next without getting burned by a spew of flames from the mystery soldier working with South. 

 _But you seem really worried about me. And I’m seeing some memories here of what this Meta thing did last time you had AI and… uh, I think Delta was right earlier. Maybe we should’ve worked more on our communication skills. This seems pretty firmly in the_ Shit I Should’ve Been Told _category of information right now,_ Epsilon scolded.

“No, Epsilon!” Carolina snapped, skidding to a halt just long enough to turn directions and sent herself, full momentum, into punching the goon on South’s left that was wearing CT’s armor. “The only information that has _any_ pertinence right now? _Is how to keep us the fuck alive._ Accept that, and then get back to me with a plan.”

While it felt unreasonably good to have laid out the fucker who dared to wear her dead friend’s armor, Carolina found that it left an opening in the two-man firing brigade South had gotten going on the Meta. Which left both of them open to shots from the Meta and South ended up taking a hit to the shoulder.

“You fucking bitch!” South screeched, dropping below their cover with Carolina. She leered at Carolina angrily. “Are you trying to get us all fucking killed!?”

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn if your friends don’t make it out of this, South,” Carolina told her candidly.

“Well, fuck, neither do I. But I still know that you and I at our best aren’t going to be enough to take on _Maine_ with all these AI and enhancements he’s got on him now,” South snapped angrily. 

“That isn’t Maine!” Carolina roared back just in time to feel a bullet whiz by her helmet from a direction completely opposite of Maine’s shooting. Her head whipped toward the source’s direction and she found herself deadlocked with the flamethrower asshole again. She snapped back at South. “By the way, tell _your guys_ that little factoid about needing more than just the two of us to take down the Meta.”

“Oh, shut up, I’ve got this covered,” South hissed before reaching up to her helmet. “Have you got the shot? _Take_ it. What’re you even waiting for?”

Carolina began to open her mouth and ask just who South was talking to when a clear shot rang through the air. The Meta let out a snarl loud enough they could hear it over the chaos and momentarily stopped shooting. 

For a moment, Carolina felt some weight lift off of her. 

 _What the fuck was that?_ Epsilon demanded.

 _A friend,_ Carolina replied without a second’s hesitation. And it almost struck her how true and _good_ those words felt in light of everything. 

Which was just before she heard, not so much before _felt_ , an uppercut that sent her off her feet and over the construction pile that had been acting as their cover. It didn’t even register until her shoulder was hitting the pavement that it must have been the guy in CT’s armor, that it was a stupid, _ridiculous_ rookie move to have been taken by surprise. 

And it took Epsilon’s screaming and raging to will her to her feet before Carolina realized that the Meta was standing before her, bruteshot at the ready.

“Fuck,” she muttered senselessly.

Then, as if things could not have gotten anymore chaotic than they were, there was a definite revving of engines before Carolina watched a mongoose – wheels first, pile into the Meta’s armor and sent her old friend flying toward the nearest pillar. 

York jumped off the back of the ATV almost simultaneously with the wrecking, flipping his shotgun over his shoulder to be at the ready the moment his feet hit the ground. He stood over her, gun aimed in the direction of her attackers where he took two warning shots. 

The flamethrower guy hesitated more before backing off, but the other ducked for cover with South without another moment’s notice. 

Epsilon projected eagerly over Carolina’s shoulder for the first time since the whole mess had begun. “York! Never thought I’d be happy to see _your_ ugly helmet out here. Holy shit.”

“You didn’t introduce me to your friends,” York said lightly, his voice still tight and bothered from the excitement all the same. 

“They haven’t proven to be the sort you bring home to the family,” she announced, pushing up to her feet to stand beside him. “And worse yet they have _terrible_ tastes in leadership.”

“Yeah?” York asked, obviously more concerned at the fact that the Meta had just shoved the mongoose off and walked out of a literal crevice he made in the pillar. 

“Yeah, the chick in the black and purple armor?” Carolina said, nodding toward her so York would follow. “ _South.”_

“No fucking shit,” York marveled. “Small world.”

“ _Too_ small,” Carolina agreed.

“Carolina!” flamethrower guy roared from the distance. “I don’t give a fuck about how many of you fancy Freelancer fuckers are around! I want to settle this. You. _Me._ Right now! I’m going to make you _burn_ for all the pain you’ve caused. I’m going to make you _bleed_ your apologies.”

“Huh,” York said. “What the fuck is with this guy?”

“Does it matter?” Carolina demanded. 

“Normally, I’d say not really. Today? I’m going with the fact that I like to know some basic facts about the people trying to kill us,” York replied dryly. “You know. Just to change things up for once.”

Epsilon shifted uncomfortably to Carolina’s other shoulder. “Look, not to interrupt the loving banter and all that, but we’ve got some _serious shit_ to be worried about right now!” 

Delta appeared over York’s in response. “Epsilon is correct. Given what we’ve seen of how these two unknown soldiers are concentrated on Carolina for the moment, and given the aggressiveness and power behind the Meta currently, I do not predict that a scuffle between all parties would end in our favor. Particularly since both parties seem to have issue with us.”

York sighed. “Look, just to restate my point: _everyone_ in the galaxy seems to have issue with us, _so_ we’ll need more than that.”

Carolina didn’t, though. “They want us to divide and conquer, York,” she told him. “And I’m inclined to agree.”

He tilted his head toward her. “And I guess these are _bedroom rules_ and whether or not I’m inclined to something isn’t factoring in at all?”

“And here I thought you’d never learn,” Carolina rolled her eyes. 

“Okay, _stop_ with the flirting. I got it a few days ago, stop rubbing it in my face!” Epsilon snarled.

Enjoying Epsilon’s suffering entirely too much, York nodded to Carolina. “Okay, so how do you want us to do this, Boss?”

“Stay here and distract the Meta–”

“Wow, and I _already_ hate everything about this. How did you manage to do that so fast?” York scoffed.

“I’m going to _very quickly and efficiently_ take out our two new friends here by leading them away first. Sound good?” 

“No,” York and Delta said in unison. 

“You’ll be fine,” Carolina assured him. “Besides, it’s an order. Now, _fulfill_ it.”

Before he could muster up another protest, Carolina took off. Epsilon was silent but humming with anxiety as they took off, but it was a slower pace than her usual show. 

She needed the unknowns to follow her, and to do that they needed to see her first. 

There was almost too much satisfaction in her when she looked back and saw them both trailing behind. 

 _We’ve got this,_ Epsilon piped up. _I mean. We_ do _got this, right, Cee?_

A few steps more and Carolina could hear the gunfight beginning between York and the Meta. Her heart squeezed. “We’d better,” she responded ominously.

* * *

He was so stunned by the brush off at first he didn’t even fully react. His hands did not slip from the shotgun but he still dropped it slightly, watching the blur that the took the place of where Carolina had once been.

“Wait! No! Carolina!” he yelled after her. 

There was a gleam of green in the periphery of his vision that York didn’t so much as have to glance toward to know who it was. 

“This was an unfortunate turn of events,” Delta droned, not even bothering to sound surprised by their recent abandonment.

“ _Dammit!”_ York hissed.

It had seemed like such a good and heroic idea when he was riding the mongoose through the air and crashing into their former teammate. He wasn’t entirely sure where it all went so wrong. 

The spray of gunfire from the Meta was quick to get his attention, however, and York ducked to avoid the ensuing bullets behind cover. 

There were a string of incoherent curses on his breath as he reloaded, tucked around the side of the pillar he managed to get behind, and sent shots back. Delta was streaming real-time projections and suggestions on maneuvers straight to his HUD but York hardly paid attention to them. 

They were in sync, and the plans Delta had the most faith in, the information that was held to be most pertinent, York felt in his gut like a second instinct. He hadn’t needed things spelled out to him from Delta in a long time. 

Mostly, Delta gave verbal cues to York out of courtesy anymore.

“Soldier of unknown allegiance and trustworthiness approaching on our nine,” he informed York.

“Should I shoot them?” York mused out loud before standing and delivering a round of shots that met their mark at the Meta’s shoulder. 

“The chances of that working in our current favor are forty three percent,” Delta offered statistically.

“Interesting odds,” York grunted, dropping back behind cover to switch out weapons. His back pressed against the concrete and he glanced just in time to see the soldier in black and purple armor slide into position beside him, shoulder hitting the concrete hard but securely. “Too late, anyway.”

The other soldier messed with their helmet but paid York and Delta no mind, looking around their cover and keeping track of the Meta’s movements under their breath. 

“So from what I gather you’re _South,”_ York chatted, inserting a new clip to his sidearm. 

“From what I gather you’re still a fucking lousy infiltration expert who couldn’t get out of a warehouse undetected,” South snapped back.

York glared at her. “New armor?” he asked. “Hate it. Looks awful on you.”

South’s head snapped in his direction. “You’re such a little whiny bastard deep down, you know that?” she hissed.

“Aw, you missed me,” York scoffed. He leaned out from behind the pillar and looked to Delta. “Alright, Dee, what’s the best way to deal with this situation?”

Delta obediently projected around the corner as well and observed the Meta’s position. 

“It would appear to me that the only course of action is to maintain distance between ourselves and the Meta,” Delta announced. “Given Maine’s statistical advantage at hand-to-hand, our own tactical advantage with multiple firearms, and the general issue of the Meta’s known fixation with acquiring armor enhancements and AI, _distance is key.”_

York narrowed his eye. “Is there anything that’s _not_ a key with you?”

There was a tremendous roar and both York and South looked on as the Meta charged at them. 

“Holy _shit!”_ York yelled, getting in position and firing once directly for the Meta and making his mark right at the former Freelancer’s chest. 

He didn’t stop charging and before York could take aim again, South interrupted. 

“Don’t fucking kill him!” she snarled before tackling them both out of the way of the white armored tank. “My orders are to bring this fucker in alive! You mess that up for me, York, I’ll rip you apart myself!”

With a grunt, York hit the pavement with South and they rolled. He shook his head and glared at her. “Newsflash, South, I don’t give a single damn about whatever your _orders_ are or who they’re from. The Meta was about to rip us in half _right then.”_

“I believe that is my fault,” Delta announced, projecting closer to York’s shoulder. “It would seem my presence is causing us to be singled out as a target.”

York glared at him. “Well how about we keep from doing that?”

“Executing,” Delta replied before flickering out. 

Reaching for another clip, York pushed to his feet and took aim. 

“I’m warning you, York! I’m taking Maine in _alive!”_ South growled.

“And I’m telling you right now, _that_ is not Maine,” York said as he watched the slightly dazed Meta turn on its heels and charge for them again. He aimed for the domed helmet and readied his trigger finger. “Sorry, buddy, it’s you or me.”

“Fucking hell, forcing my hand,” South muttered, zipping out of the way and reaching for her helmet. “Take the fucking shot, North. I don’t care if he’s in the way! _Take it_ or we’re going to have Control up our asses!”

Ignoring South, York squeezed the trigger. It was then that Delta’s insistent buzzing went from a harmonized hum to a rapid pounding in his head. 

Warning faster than words, but not quite fast enough. 

York heard the shot and watched the blood spray from Maine’s thigh right before their collision. 

He didn’t even think about how much his arm hurt until they had both fallen from the overpass and onto the traffic below.  

* * *

_It’s all too fast! I can’t keep up with this! Carolina, please slow down!_

She ignored Epsilon, pushing the speed boost for another leg and watching as her two combatants moved in an eerie harmony predicting her every twist and turn. They had studied on her. They had been _expecting_ her. 

And that tickle of familiarity she had felt before continued to grow.

 _I can’t do this,_ Epsilon sounded like he was gasping for air. 

“You said yourself, _you_ are the one who functions on a different time table, Epsilon,” Carolina snapped, ducking beneath one of the black armored soldier’s bursts of flame just in time to be hit with the brown soldier’s kick to her chest. “Use it!” she coughed out, hitting the pavement and sending them into another burst of speed. 

 _I_ do _function faster but I just – I don’t know how – you have to let me process all this. It’s too much information and–_

“And you’re a _computer,_ Epsilon! Think like one!” Carolina nearly begged. 

There was a spurt of fretting anxiety growing in the back of her brain, and Carolina knew that her AI partner was going to be useless until he calmed down. All that coaching, all those endless lessons from Freelancer about learning to trust AI as a second instinct and Carolina had to throw it all away. 

Until he got his act together, Epsilon was going to be more of a hinderance to her getting out of this fight alive. And that _really_ pissed her off.

“You like to fight close and personal, Carolina!” the flamethrower soldier snarled, charging forward and blocking just in time for one of Carolina’s kicks, and then sweeping up his knee to block the kick it led into. “And so do I!”

He swung back and Carolina blocked it.

 _Coming up on your left!_ Epsilon shouted loud enough it sent a shiver down Carolina’s spine.

She glanced over and saw the one in CT’s armor sending a flying kick her way just in time to dodge it. It wasn’t much, but it at least got both of the attackers on the same side of her so she could watch them simultaneously. 

She stepped back and quietly thanked Epsilon. _This is more like it._

 _Well, just so we’re clear, you’re a slave driver. And possibly have a death wish. Why are we sharing the same brain, again? This seems like a bad idea in hindsight,_ Epsilon huffed in aggravation. 

“We have the advantage, Carolina,” the black armored one snarled. He stalked forward, heat and gas obscuring the air around his flamethrower, just _waiting_ for ignition. “I’ve studied you. I know who you are. I’m prepared. I’m _strong._ And you don’t even know what hell you’ve brought upon yourself.”

Carolina narrowed her eyes. “Maybe not, but I’ve always been pretty good at guessing.”

 _You’ve actually got a plan?_ Epsilon asked skeptically.

 _It’s not like you were making one,_ she thought back.

There was a subtle hum and Epsilon began vibrating. Apparently witty banter worked just as well to get his focus, Carolina made another note for the future. If they had one, that was.

 _The guy wearing your friend’s armor?_ Epsilon pointed out.

 _The one I_ really _want to punch?_ Carolina asked flatly.

 _Yeah, he’s moving a lot more coordinated. Look at him, he’s already starting to sidestep to try and get on your other side,_ Epsilon continued. They both watched as the brown armored one began to slyly do just that. _He’s definitely trying to move them like a team. Which makes this hard as balls._

“Wow, _thanks,_ Epsilon,” Carolina snapped out loud. “Very helpful.”

 _Dude, hold your fucking horses! This is where my superior computer brain comes in handy,_ Epsilon yelled back. _This CTish guy is basically overstepping right now to make up for the fact that his so-called partner isn’t doing the same. Flamethrower-guy isn’t even watching the other guy’s back. Which means that he’s the one you could get control over._

Carolina watched steadily as the CT armored man stepped edged closer to her other side. 

“I like it,” she said, eyes darting back toward the main threat.

 _You’re welcome,_ Epsilon replied smugly. _Now stop throwing more shit at me than I can handle, okay? Still figuring this whole_ being a computer _stuff out, Cee. Not sure we’re battle ready._

“I’m battle ready enough for the both of us,” she assured him before planting her feet and rising up out of her more prepared stance. “Hey, flamethrower–”

“I am _Sharkface!”_ he snarled back.

For a moment, Carolina was genuinely caught off guard and glanced toward her shoulder. Epsilon projected there and looked back to her before giving a confused shrug of his own. 

“Right, whoever the fuck you are,” Carolina replied dryly. “You seem to have a _whole_ lot of information about me that I don’t really have on you. There a reason for that other than creepy stalker syndrome?”

He stepped forward, practically foaming at the mouth. “Have you ruined so many lives that you can’t even place them anymore?” 

“That’s what it’s starting to sound like,” Carolina snarked in return. 

Visibly irritated by the attitude Carolina had on display, Sharkface let out another snarl and then ran forward. “Allow me to refresh your memory then!” 

Smirking beneath her helmet, Carolina waited a few steps before dropping into a squatted position. Epsilon flared up the speedboost, making her reflexes that much more responsive as Sharkface dove for her. 

She grabbed his available wrist with her left hand. Her right caught onto the belt of his armor. 

Then, with all her strength, Carolina jettisoned Sharkface over her head and toward his also diving partner.

The moment her hands were free, Carolina kicked back against the ground, letting the added momentum of her armor enhancement push herself far away from the crash of the two soldiers. She then pulled out her sidearm, watched Epsilon’s guided trajectory, and shot for the head of the Sharkface’s flamethrower. 

There was a spark and Carolina had just enough time to think _success!_ before everything blew up in their faces. 

As the soldiers were sent flying through the flames one way, Carolina stumbled in the other. 

She crashed hard against the pavement and rolled with the blast for a ways until she came to a stop. Her cough choked her a bit and she had to roll over to her hands and knees in order to catch her breath again. 

 _You alright, Cee?_ Epsilon asked, voice heavy with real concern.

“I’ll live,” she said. “And we got out of _that_ mess, so there’s–”

Her HUD suddenly became flooded with information – bioscans, radio patterns, a beacon, and a string of directions being droned out in a monotoned but loud voice. 

“Epsilon, what the hell!” she snapped, trying to look through all the information at once. 

 _It’s not me!_ he defended. _It’s Delta, he’s swamping my frequency with this– Oh, no. It’s York._

Success and that feeling of satisfaction drained from Carolina’s bones instantly. She leaped to her feet and ran. 

* * *

Everything hurt but York could hear Delta’s anxious voice droning on even over the alarms and lights going off in his HUD. He had to get up. 

_York, I have already initiated the Healing Unit, biofoam should be packing your arm. We are currently also–_

“I’m Humpty Dumpty, Dee, I get it!” he groaned, pushing up to his knees. “Tell me something I don’t–”

Before the words could even finish leaving his mouth, York looked up and saw the oncoming traffic. His eye widened and he barely managed to roll out of the way of an oncoming jeep flying past them.

Whatever these Freelancer soldiers and personnel were attempting to get away from, it wasn’t leaving York with too many friends. And he had a good idea of just _what_ would inspire that sort of stampeded like response. 

 _The Meta landed on a jeep which seemed to have carried him off some distance,_ Delta informed York, tone rushed and curt. _I believe our best course of action is to find cover and escape further detection until backup has arrived._

“Yeah?” York asked just before there was a screech of cars. He glared into the distance, watching as a car flipped through the air. He reached for his remaining gun as he achingly backed away from the scene. “So sure about that?”

 _Reevaluating,_ Delta replied. 

“Yeah, I bet you are,” York grunted, watching as the cars swerved out of the way of the oncoming threat. 

The Meta stood, snarling and growling, signature weapon at hand. 

Having no interest in letting the Meta have it easy, York began firing as much as possible, watching as the bullets peppered his former friend. “Fucking– you never knew when to _stand down_ , did you, Maine!?” he yelled, knowing the uselessness of it. 

When the Meta fired back, York’s gun took the brunt of it, flying out of his hand and leaving him to yelp at the searing but comparatively temporary pain of it.

 _Two minutes until Agent Carolina can intercept,_ Delta informed him. 

“Oh, good, I thought this was going to be easy,” York hissed.

His shot arm hung limply and uselessly at his side as the Meta ran for him, but York had no intentions of letting the mammoth of a man rip off what was left of his appendage to beat him to death with. 

 _That doesn’t seem physically possible, York,_ Delta bantered. 

He turned his good side toward the Meta, pulling up his left fist and blocking the first blow from the Meta’s kick. It sent him sliding back on the balls of his feet but didn’t knock York over, which was a relief. It was hard enough to fight favoring his blindside rather than his right for once. 

As if he didn’t have enough disadvantages in the fight. 

When the Meta snarled incoherently, it swung with the blade of the bruteshot and York narrowly avoided it. The fighting continued with a few more steps backward for York. 

Delta was making it _very_ clear in his ongoing monologue between York’s ears that he favored them putting as much distance between them as possible, let Carolina handle the rough stuff. 

“You wound me,” York grunted, ducking under the Meta’s last swing well enough that he could reposition in a squat. His good hand grabbed the combat knife secreted in his boot and then York sprung forward. 

The Meta’s waist had been left open in his wilder swings, giving York room to knock the air right out of the white armored tank and send him to the ground. 

 _One minute until interception,_ Delta chimed.

York was disappointed by how quickly the Meta rose back up, but he was also prepared for it and he sliced forward with the knife. It sliced into the Meta’s knuckles, releasing a snarl and yelp from the man that encouraged him to drop his favored weapon. 

"How about encouraging Lina to move the time table up a bit?” York asked, rotating the knife for better grip as the hilt became slick with blood. He then brandished his knuckles before pushing forward into a solid punch toward the Meta’s head. 

 _That will not be helpful,_ Delta informed him, like it was news.

Unable to jab with his other arm, York instead rotated to bring up his knee against the Meta’s bleeding thigh. Then he led with his available fist again. 

“Then give me something that _will_ be, Dee!” York breathed just before his fist was caught. 

He barely had time to think before the Meta snarled and held him in place for a solid punch that was hard enough it sent York’s helmet flying. He let out a broken noise as the Meta punched again, that time for his damaged arm, then kicked York’s chest hard enough he was sent flying backward.

York could feel the moving traffic behind him, his back armor sparking as it was brushed by a speeding vehicle. He let out a cry and stumbled with the additional momentum before he collapsed to the ground. 

HIs head was throbbing and red began to seep over his vision. York only blearily realized that his head injury must have opened back up. 

The alarms of his suit were screeching and he knew it was bad – maybe _worse_ than bad. But the Meta was stalking toward him again.

“Dee,” York coughed, dragging himself by his elbow. “Dee, I can’t…”

“As I said before, York,” Delta said out loud, suddenly projecting over his shoulder. “I believe I am causing you to be a greater target by my presence. The Meta has proven to be interested in armor enhancements and AI fragments. I provide both currently.”

“What?” York croaked out just before he felt a thick hand grab his ankle and drag him back, his chin hitting the pavement as it happened. 

“I have a theory,” Delta said, turning toward the Meta. “It will require breaking from safety protocols. But it is inspired by the field tested methods of Eta and Iota.”

York could barely see past his blood, but he knew Delta was right on his shoulder, as always. The AI’s words were not making any sense, and York couldn’t expend the energy to think about them when he felt the Meta grab his chest plate.

“Dee!” York shouted, kicking as much as he could while the Meta hoisted him into the air. “Carolina! Get her!” 

“I apologize for any pain this may cause, York,” Delta droned on. “Forceful ejection–”

Suddenly, York found himself _only_ listening to the AI’s words. His eyes widened with realization. “No. _No,_ Delta! Don’t you dare, you can’t–”

“Please remember that I am, and always will be, your friend. And that _you,_ York… You are worth the sacrifice.”

The words felt completely hollow in York’s chest as he watched the Meta’s other hand reach for his neck. He couldn’t accept, couldn’t _believe_ that Delta would ever–

It was one of the most painful things York had ever felt. Like lightning had struck his spine. His vision, his hearing, smell, taste, _breathing_ – everything halted as it was struck with a pulse. 

The faithful hum at the back of his head ceased, and York felt his whole world crash, the gears of his mind instantly rust and grind to a broken halt. 

He gasped, choked, and then everything shut down. 

* * *

There had been little room for doubt that things were going bad the moment Delta reached out for them. But somehow, naively, _stupidly,_ Carolina had not been expecting them to be _worse._

 _Ninety feet away,_ Epsilon provided unhelpfully.

York was on the ground, the Meta was behind him. 

“York!” she shrieked, voice lost in the wind as the speedboost accelerated them.

_Sixty feet–_

The scream that York let out sent a chill through her, stopped her heart, nearly made her stumble. A dual scream not unlike the echoes still scarring her own brain. The sound of a human – two – being ripped in half. 

It hurt her throat just to be reminded of it. 

There was no attempt to brace himself as York hit the ground with a nasty thud. _Twenty feet away._ His arm was twisted behind his back and head covered in red from the front and the back. 

Carolina couldn’t see anything anymore, couldn’t hear anything outside of the feral scream she unleashed as she flung a kick at the Meta’s chest.

He stumbled back, off balanced with his bloodied fist closed around Delta’s chip. The Meta seemed to debate fighting when there was a spray of gunfire from the overpass above. 

The domed head snarled at Carolina before taking off. 

She _almost_ stepped forward when, in the back of her head, Epsilon let out a weak voice. _Cee, we’ve gotta do something for him._

And just when she didn’t believe her world could go crashing down any further, everything hit her at once. 

“Oh, god,” she gasped before turning on her heels and facing the bloodied mess of a man left on the road. She dropped beside him, ignoring the sounds of vehicles starting up, of distant shouting – all white noise as she looked over York. 

She dropped to her knees beside him, hesitating before at last pulling York off his bleeding arm and partially into her lap. 

“York? Come on,” she grunted, pulling him close as she quickly brushed the blood from his eyes. His good eye rolled aimlessly in its socket, pupil blown. “York! Can you hear me?”

“Dee,” he muttered weakly.

“Look at me. _Hey!”_ she growled, more aggressive than she meant as she framed his face with her hands and forced him to look at her. “Look at me. Stay with me, alright? Try to answer me. I’m going to…”

She didn’t know what to do.

Epsilon projected over her shoulder, clearly panicked. “I-I can put together a list of field procedures to perform based on his bioscan. And it looks like his healing unit is already activated!” 

Carolina nodded, gulping down breath as she focused on York’s eyes again. 

York wasn’t seeing her, but the moment he locked onto Epsilon he froze. “Dee,” he rasped.

“It’s not him, York, it’s Epsilon, come on,” Carolina attempted to communicate, smoothing his blood slicked hair just before York’s eye rolled back into his head. “York!?”

Without other warning, York’s body began trembling, starting small in his shoulders before almost instantly becoming head to toe. A grand mal seizure, but fast and hard, his whole body convulsing.

“York!” Carolina cried out, feeling the full force of his skull slamming back into her lap. 

“Hold his head! Make sure it doesn’t hit the pavement!” Epsilon ordered.

Carolina’s eyes snapped toward him, burning with tears. “What the hell do you think I’m doing!?” she erupted. 

All the same, she held his shoulders, keeping him in her lap as best she could, adjusting so that the ramming was more often than not against the softer mesh of her armor rather than the plating. 

A few seconds more lapsed before finally, York slumped down against Carolina, body limp and formless against the pavement. 

Still shocked, Carolina waited a few moments before bending over his head, hands roughly running down his cheeks. “York?” she asked, rubbing his face again. “York, come on. York?” 

Epsilon stood over her shoulder silently before whispering, “He’s unconscious, Cee. But his healing unit won’t be enough for long.” He paused. “We need help.”

Carolina stared, eyes brimming. She couldn’t _breathe._

“York _is_ my help,” she choked out. “I don’t… I don’t trust anyone else. I don’t _have_ anyone else. He can’t… Epsilon, he can’t…”

“You have to have _someone,_ Carolina!” Epsilon cried back. “You have to try _anyone!_ If you don’t he’s going to die and those fuckers with you ex-teammate are going to be back and… You. _Have._ To. _Try!”_

Her mind raced for a solution, but it ground to a halt so easily. So filled with the current events, with the pool of blood she could feel growing over her thigh. 

Swallowing, Carolina gathered herself and reached for the supplies in her belt. First thing first was York’s head. 

“Epsilon, get on my radio,” she said lowly. “If there’s _any_ chance that this frequency works, we have a chance.”

Epsilon nodded before disappearing, and Carolina began putting pressure on York’s fried implant. 

“You-you listen to me,” Carolina ordered over a couple of sobs. “You are not allowed to die. You’re not allowed to… to let me drag your ass all over this planet for-for some _stupid_ revenge thing that doesn’t… None of this will matter if I’m what got you killed, York. So fucking _suck it up_  and stay _with me_ or… Or I’ll make you regret it.You got it?”

York didn’t respond, but her helmet frequency _did._


	39. Recovery One XII: Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd This chapter’s a little late. But I can’t thank you all enough for putting up with my late updates lately and for the amazing support and conversation had last chapter. I’m so blessed to have such active readers and I hope that you continue to enjoy the rest of the twists and turns we have in store for Part XII!
> 
> Special thanks to @freshzombiewriter, @secretlystephaniebrown, @analiarvb, @washingtonstub, @meteoratdusk, CABRALFAN27, @icefrozenover, @sroloc–elbisivni, @ephemeraltea, Septdeneuf, Yin, @notatroll7, staininspace, and ms-aqua-marvel for the feedback!

If there was one thing that Texas didn’t have time for, it was self doubt and second guessing her decisions. 

One of the benefits of being a lone agent was that she rarely had to deal with others giving her those things unnecessarily. And the entire time she worked for Freelancer – all the way until she found a dog tag in her locker that didn’t belong to her – Tex never had to worry about such things coming from herself either. 

It made her a perfect agent. 

An efficient machine. 

The only reason she could think positively of the way insecurity seemed to cling to her at the time was that, just maybe, it had been the most human she had been allowed to feel. And before she hadn’t even known it. 

Still, for perhaps the third time since she begun her journey searching for Church and her rampant former AI partner, Tex stopped her stolen vehicle and looked back in the direction of the canyon. 

Even though the ludicrous simulation troopers would have in _no_ way been able to get back to their bases yet, she wondered if she should go there ahead of schedule. Make sure things were alright. 

Make sure that Caboose and Tucker hadn’t managed to kill each other. 

It was a stupid, sentimental thought she didn’t have time for. 

“ _Damn it,”_ she growled, throwing her fists down on the handlebars. “Why did Wash have to act like he could give _me_ responsibilities? Fuck him. I don’t have to fulfill expectations. _Fuck_ him.”

And yet she couldn’t even pretend to be angry enough at Wash to convince _herself_ of the words. 

Latching onto that aggravation, Tex turned her ATV back around and prepared to continue combing the desolate areas left altered by O’Malley’s weather machine. 

Frustrated with that human element hampering her progress, Tex looked instead toward the talents her mechanical self possessed that could be of use. Specifically, the ability to multitask with the various functions of her new _er_ body. 

Monitoring multiple frequencies, looking over the real-time GPS directly fed to her HUD, Tex suddenly found herself looking at a very different world, one that spoke as much in numbers as it was images. 

At first it hurt her head – so much information, so much _code_ tickling her sensibilities. 

She knew she _could_ read and understand it all at once, but the grinding gears of her mind kept halting. 

But Tex was always stubborn, and she had a lot of quiet on the open road. 

And that was when she made the break. 

Increment by increment, her comprehension of the code was growing better, going _faster,_ until finally she realized what she was really reading.

Her foot slammed down on the break and Tex’s vehicle came slamming to a halt, kicking up the mud and dirt of the waste around her. 

Paying no attention to the broken earth around her, Tex focused on the signal that her radios were picking up, then triangulated it on the map. 

“O’Malley,” she growled out like it was a curse. She stared at the pulsing light on her HUD, thinking over what the signal could mean. 

 _Trap_ specifically came to mind in her considerations. 

Omega was an AI, and he had a lot more practice at _being_ one than Tex did by that point. Which meant that for him to not mask his signal, for him to lead her right to him he was either expecting her, or doing something where it just wouldn’t matter if she found him or not. 

“Well, I sure as shit don’t have anything else going for me right now,” she growled.

Tex course corrected and headed straight for Omega. 

Because it might have been a trap, it might’ve been absolutely stupid for her to go, but they still had Church. And for Tex that just about had to be worth it. 

* * *

The ride to Command was longer than Wash remembered it being. Or, perhaps, it was just long enough to give him additional anxiety about his arrival. Which was _entirely_ unhelpful since there were few things he needed less help with than mounting anxiety. 

There was also the matter of his field equipment and new armor. 

He had been trained in the Mark V armor at least peripherally before. He knew about the make and model thanks to FILSS’ less than desirable suggested reading lists during his time as a Recovery Agent. But the field testing models he and the simulation troopers had stumbled upon were different in practice. 

And Wash had personally gone so long without a fully functional armor that the fact he had a working radio was enough of an adjustment. 

By the fourth hour of his drive, he had caught himself nearly thinking out loud _six times_ , and there were multiple reasons for him to feel alarmed by that. 

Then, by the fifth hour, he had once again caught himself almost radioing into the simulation troopers to check on them. Or least of all to check in with Tex to make sure she had everything under control. 

Wash was able to stop short each time with the very rational, very _true_ fact that Recovery and Freelancer had every reason to be looking out for _him_  already, and that if he made contact with very sensitive testing grounds and with other wanted former Freelancers, well, it would probably throw whatever peace the simulation troopers had left straight into real danger. 

And he couldn’t have that. Wyoming being after them was more than enough.

One feasible benefit of the working radio, however, was that the moment he closed in on the facility, Wash could see the option of directly contacting their frequency pop up on his HUD. And instantly he knew he was on course. 

Reaching the familiar hills surrounding the otherwise barren landscape of the main headquarters, Wash quietly dismounted and approached with binoculars at the ready. 

The entire time he had been thinking through and revising his plan, Wash had _known_ that the back entrance to the facility would be the least heavily guarded. 

So while his clearances and knowledge of the facility would mean that he could simply walk up to the back door and waltz in as if he was expected, he wanted to reassure himself that he knew what he was walking into. Something he was sure Tucker would try to write off as paranoia.

Looking through his binoculars, however, _not so much._

“What the hell…” Wash’s voice drifted off as he looked all around the highly secure Freelancer base. 

 _Secure_ didn’t even begin to describe it anymore. 

Each entrance was heavily guarded, both with a border patrol and with a stationed patrol. There was swift changes that were seemingly erratic and might take hours of observation for him to fully crack. Hours he didn’t really have with the Alpha at supposed risk. 

All of this was the same for the back lots which also seemed to be heavily damaged and marked with bullet holes and fire. 

Wash lowered his binoculars, and brought a hand to his chin, trying to think through the situation logically. 

There was more than just Wyoming out there so far as rogue agents, and more than a few of them had been reported as hostile over the past year. But Wash couldn’t think of _anyone_ in his records as being still alive that would be ballsy enough to take on the facility directly. 

“Someone did,” Wash reasoned, only to take a heavy sigh at his own narration. 

He put his binoculars into his belt loop and decided to stay the course. 

While the security was high, the back was still the least guarded of the available entrances. And with his security clearances and the help of FILSS it was still his best bet for smoothly getting in and out. 

“Alright, Wash,” he muttered to himself, prepping his firearms just in case, running his fingers over the hilts of his combat knives to assure himself everything was in place just in case. “Make it quick.”

As soon as a border patrol passed, Wash raced to the available gate.

He kept his eyes posted on all the vantage points for guards even as he raced across the grounds. And once he reached the gate itself, he easily carded in the security passes he knew.

When the first didn’t take, Wash felt his heart seize. His eyes darted back and froth to all the places around him that he _knew_ guards would be by soon, and tried his second access code.

The higher security clearance allowed him in, and with a breath of relief he continued on inside and half-stepped, half- _ran_ toward the nearest building.

A lower security access code would have granted him more anonymity, though it made sense that if the facility had been recently attacked there would have been a higher threshold.

But the higher he went, the fewer other people would have had access to those codes, and the quicker something would be detected as amiss.

The moment he was inside, Wash ducked toward the nearest access panel, and opened it with his personal access code. With FILSS’ help, he’d be able to mask his access as soon as she authorized.

“FILSS,” he whispered to the computer. “FILSS, I need you to put me on private access privileges while I’m here. It involves a sensitive mission.”

He looked over his shoulder, checking for any signs of being uncovered, then looked back to the screen expectantly.

Wash’s eyes widened slightly as he saw his access had been denied.

“Server error?” he read out loud, each syllable knocking the wind out of him. 

Suddenly, the Freelancer realized he might have been in trouble.

* * *

The signal, as it turned out, was coming from a very precariously built shelter in the middle of a ravine. Which wasn’t to say it was the most inconspicuous use of the planet’s landscape she had seen thus far, just that it was _annoying._

But Tex also knew that no one thought like her quite like her former AI thought like her. And so she was cautious even in how he was cautious – which had to have been one of the more ridiculous scenarios out there.

It was enough to make her worry the simulation troopers back in Blood Gulch had grown on her. 

However, she was also short on time, so if the shack was either a diversion or a trap, Tex wasn’t willing to waste much more energy on it than necessary. 

Fiddling with the handlebar and breaks of her gungoose, Tex came to a decent solution and then promptly ripped the gun from its mount. It could possibly be something worthwhile to her later if the rest of her plan went pear shaped. 

Tex then lined up the gungoose with the shelter, took a few quick looks, and then kicked the pedal down, holding the gatling gun over her shoulders as she did so.

With a mighty roar of its engines, the ATV kicked up the dirt and dead grass beneath it and took off toward the shack. 

She stood back long enough to not get hit by the vehicle, but then as the vehicle neared the shack, Tex walked back into a better spot for observation. If she was _right,_ then things were about to get interesting. If she was _wrong_ , then her rampant AI problem was about to get taken care of in a rather brilliant display.

Either way, she was going to have  a front row seat. 

Hitting a rock in its path, the gungoose took off into the air, wheels spinning. 

As it landed on the shack, however, not a moment later Tex got to watch an explosion of ridiculous magnitude – the wind and heat coming off of it intense enough that she was forced to step back and cover her head. 

Fortunately, as an AI, Tex didn’t have to blink and thus miss any part of the ensuing chaos. 

“Well, on the _plus side_ , they’re not going to have any C4 left on them. Holy _shit_ ,” Tex snarked.

As soon as the initial blasting died down, Tex readjusted the weapon over her shoulders and looked for a decent vantage point besides her own. She knew these guys well enough to predict that they were going to be watching the trap unfold themselves. 

Once she saw the distant glints of armor, Tex smirked to herself and ducked down. It was going to be difficult to sneak with something as cumbersome as the gun, but it would be helped by her active camouflage which she soon activated.

Silently, Tex advanced toward them. 

For a moment, she wished Omega was around if for no other reason than to have him search the various frequencies of her helmet for whatever local channel the enemies were using. But Tex stopped herself and realized the ability, like so many others, was available to her all along. 

Splitting her focus was still something new, and she didn’t like being anything less than direct in her approach to life, but she managed. And soon the bottom left corner of her HUD was a string of various channels and frequencies she was processing through. 

If she didn’t have an asshole ex-boyfriend to save, she would’ve considered taking the time to congratulate herself.

Only a few channels in and, sure enough, she began to hear hatefully familiar voices over her communicator.

“Okay, well if I knew that was what you were going to do with it, I wouldn’t have spent so much time decorating!” the medic’s voice cracked. “Really, not sharing your plans like that is kind of rude. We’re supposed to be partners.”

"Silence, you fool!” O’Malley’s voice took over, and Tex felt her jaw clench. “This was a strictly _need to know_ basis. And my true partners are those who share my dubious intentions. Heh heh ha.”

“To be fair, old chap, you didn’t quite share the exact details of this maneuver with myself either,” Wyoming’s voice picked up. 

Tex moved into position, holding the gun over her shoulder and hoping for the shade of the nearby rocks and her active camouflage being enough to cover her entirely from the group’s spying eyes. 

Below her stood Wyoming and the aptly named Doc, O’Malley on board no doubt, and they seemed to be somewhat at ease considering their distance from the destroyed site. Ease that Tex was fully prepared to end with her preferred method of _hit and ask later_ as soon as they gave her the slightest inclination to. 

But then she saw what was on the back of Wyoming’s armor and she nearly dropped her aim.

The capture unit was just like she had seen before – unmistakable. Only this one was loaded, thriving with activity given the lighting of it and the way it blinked off and on. 

“Church,” she whispered barely louder than her breath. 

“Okay, I _hate_ to bring up the argument again,” Doc began lowly.

“Evidence to the contrary,” O’Malley huffed back, going so far as to cross Doc’s arms.

Doc dropped them and nervously reached for a medical scanner that sat readied at his side. “But really you can’t get a more obvious partner than me right now, O’Malley. You _are_ sharing my brain.”

“I wouldn’t find that worth bragging about,” Wyoming chuckled.

“You haven’t even seen what little’s in here either,” O’Malley added with a dramatic roll of Doc’s head.

"Also, my _body,”_ Doc continued, though oddly enough there wasn’t much frustration in his voice despite the turn in the conversation. “Which can come under harm with all these wild and dangerous plans you two have been cooking up lately. Not the least of which that doohickey you’ve got, Wyoming.”

Tex inched closer, eyes narrowing in on the doctor’s hands as he brought up the medical scanner and ran a diagnostic over the AI capture unit strapped to the Freelancer’s back. 

“The thing has _really_ been off the charts with its power output since O’Malley rigged it together, and now that it’s drawing power off of your armor, I’m worried about the physical affects,” Doc continued nervously. “I mean, I’m sworn to keep you all medically sound. Or at least not leave you worse off than when I met you. Do no harm. Pay your taxes – medical oath and all that! And I just don’t know if I’m comfortable with what could happen to your body if that armor’s power fails.”

“It would lock up, you imbecile,” O’Malley groaned. 

“Or, given that this armor is an older model, it’ll cave inward, putting all those thousands of pounds of weight on your muscles and internal organs, and crush you to death,” Doc pointed out. “The newer models are less likely to do that at least.”

Cocking her head to the side, Tex considered that, for once, the simulation troopers might have actually _benefited_ her as far as technology was concerned. If she were dedicated to being a nicer person to them, she might’ve even thanked them.

“Then I agree with the medic, we should move this thing to a greater source of power before we continue with our plans,” Wyoming said, jerking his head toward his shoulder. “And according to ourassociate, there are such upgrades in armor available at the facility he uncovered.”

“So then let’s get moving. I don’t trust that head further than I can throw him,” O’Malley decided. He took pause then added, “Though in hindsight, being only a head, I suppose we could throw him rather far.”

Wyoming shifted, his hands as steady on his sniper rifle as ever. “And our dearly departed Agent Texas? What shall we do with the scrap of her?”

“Search and recover,” O’Malley waved off easily enough as Doc’s body turned toward the path behind them. “Though, if I know my former partner at all – and I _do_ believe I know her as well as, you could say, I know _myself_ – we are about to have an encounter of the close and personal kind–”

The moment it was apparent that the two were leaving, Tex stepped into action.

She took aim with the gatling gun and unleashed fire on them. She was close enough and they were surprised enough that everything–

–the gatling gun and unleashed fire on them. But almost inhumanly, as the dust and firing cleared, Tex was left looking on in shock at the complete absence of her targets from their former positions. 

“Oh, Tex,” Wyoming called from behind just before the back of her helmet received a firm kick. “How droll. A sneak attack.”

Tex wavered on her feet, the gatling gun sliding out from her grasps and into the distance. She quickly planted her feet and turned to face the other Freelancer. When her active camouflage faltered, her jaw clenched in rage.

“How the hell do you keep doing this!?” she demanded.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Wyoming tisked with a condescending waggle of his finger. “A magician never tells. Though, I do suppose I can leave you a clue if you’re _truly_ interested. It’s in the form of a joke. Knock knock.”

“Honestly, I don’t give a fuck,” Tex snapped. However, the moment she realized there was a red, pulsating glow from the back of his armor as well as a surge of small sparks, Tex just grinned. “I just know you won’t get the drop on me again, _however_ you’re doing it.”

At first, Wyoming seemed to tune out her comeback, but by that point the sparks had become fiercer and louder, crackling right over his shoulder. He turned and seemed aghast at the condition of both his armor and the capture unit. “Oh, bugger _me.”_

Before Wyoming could even look back around, Tex flung herself at him. She preferred guns, but she delivered a hell of a punch when necessary. 

The hit met the corner of Wyoming’s jawline and sent him stumbling back, off the rocks.

Tex took a moment to feel satisfied with herself before racing to the edge. 

Immediately, she felt like the wind was kicked out of her as she saw that Wyoming had fallen onto an awaiting gungoose with Doc at the wheel, cackling in that all too familiar voice of O’Malley. 

“O’Malley!” she roared. “Give me Church back or–”

“You’ll _what,_ my dear Tex?” he demanded. “You’ve already sacrificed your ride, just how do you expect to keep up with us?”

“Oh, and please watch out for your head!” Doc’s voice called out.

“Shut the fuck up!” Tex yelled before the medic’s words really had time to catch up with her, then she realized the rocket launcher attached to that particular gungoose was being manned by Wyoming. She gasped just before he sent the rocket her way. 

She started to jump off the edge of the rocks only to feel the heat of the blast at her back.

All of Tex’s sensors began to go fuzzy before off lining one by one and all she could think was _not again._

* * *

With FILSS down, Washington considered turning right back around and getting back to the sim troopers. The fact of the matter was, it was too risky and it was simply not worth having to try to explain his way out of trouble to the Counselor or _whoever_ else at Command for the radio silence. 

But when he thought of Caboose and Tucker and Tex, and of how the Alpha was not only relying on the intel but that _whatever_ those who stole him had plan was for sure going to come back and bite him, it made Wash bold enough to begin exploring the area. 

He kept his helmet low and his shoulders stiff as he walked calmly through the halls, letting the apparent importance of his frame dissuade any on patrol that he might have met. 

And, for some reason utterly beyond him, Wash continued to find that it _worked._

“This security is so lax it’s ridiculous,” he huffed before turning a corner. 

While he personally had never been in the central command center, Wash had memorized the layout of Freelancer’s onsite facilities more times than he could count. He had known it would be helpful, just that once before he had been certain the knowledge would be used to break _out_ rather than break _in._

Things being simple enough at that point, Wash was unwilling to lose what luck he had been granted and readied his sidearm as he neared the door of the command center. He waited a beat, gathering his breath and steadying his nerves before shoving through the door and aiming for the first body he saw.

Which, as it turned out, to be the only other person in the command room.

“What the _fuck!”_ the familiar voice of Command spat, throwing up her handcuffed arms. 

Washington waited a beat, gun still trained on the woman, before hearing the doors slide close behind him. _Then_ he allowed himself to process just what he was seeing. 

Or, more specifically, _who._

“ _Niner!?”_ Wash snapped at her, chin tilting up. But he didn’t even dare take the sights of his weapon off of her.

“No fucking _duh_ it’s me!” she growled, hands still over her head. “You want to take that gun off of a woman in a wheelchair, Wash!?”

“No,” he answered honestly. “What the hell is going on – _you were Command this whole time?”_

She flinched at that, the corner of her mouth growing taut. But she kept her glare in that oh so very Niner fashion. Either too stubborn or too annoyed or _both_ to give Wash a truly satisfactory reaction. “Well no shit, Sherlock,” she said angrily. “Are you going to pretend you weren’t smart enough to figure that out from the start?”

Bristling, Wash growled back at her, “Are you kidding? I never thought to ask who my supervisor was– Don’t you _dare_ put that on _me_  here, Niner.” He narrowed his eyes and cocked his gun. “Or do I have to remind you that _you’re_ the one still working for Command here.”

“Yeah, I’m a real risk,” she snapped. “In a wheelchair and handcuffed, Wash. What am I going to do? Bite you?”

He snorted. “You absolutely _would_ if I was close enough.”

“You’re right,” she grinned sharply back. “Now can I take my arms down?” 

Before he even really realized what he was doing, Wash nodded to Niner and watched her lower her arms. He then reluctantly followed with putting up his gun. 

“Why are you handcuffed?” he asked.

“Why are you _back?_ Are you stupid?” she demanded right back. 

“I’m daring,” he corrected before coming near her. “Now why are you handcuffed? I might consider taking them off of you if you give me an answer I like and promise to help me.”

Relief washed over Niner visibly. “You trust me that much?”

Wash looked at her rather confused. “What? Of course not. You’ve been lying to me for the better part of a year. But I can see mutual benefit when it’s right in front of me, and you need help as badly as I do.”

She huffed. “Oh, good, so you know about the Director’s orders.”

He had begun to near Niner when those words stopped him dead in his tracks. Confused, he stared at her. “What orders? What are you talking about?” Immediately, fear began to seize Wash’s chest and he got in Niner’s face. “What did he _do?”_

Niner’s head tilted back and she let out a long grunt. “Dammit, I should’ve _known_ you didn’t know.” She sat back up in her seat. “Wash, you have to get both of us out of here. _Immediately._ They catch us together after what I’ve done and after what you’re charged with–”

“ _Charged_ with!?” he squawked in return.

“ _Listen_ to me!” Niner ordered. “They’ll _kill us_ , Wash. I’ve already helped someone else escape after you went radio silent.”

Confused, Wash tilted his head. “What do you mean? Who else would there have been?”

“That’s not important! They’re pinning you for stealing Freelancer property. The UNSC has you as a wanted criminal for taking military property. And Freelancer is going to _kill_ you to keep the story,” Niner told him. She held up her handcuffed hands. “Now let me go so I can help us escape out of here before anyone notices you knocked out the guards!”

“I didn’t steal anything!” Wash argued, brain still stuck on the information. “That doesn’t even make sense – I just went silent. I was _MIA_ or _AWOL_ at most, they can’t–”

“Do you not understand how a _frame_ works!?” she roared back. “Now help me get loose!”

Still dumbfounded, Wash at first reached for her handcuffs in order to comply, but the replay of her words finally caught up to him again and he froze once more. He glared at her.

“What guards? I didn’t knock out any guards,” he said suspiciously.

Niner squinted back at him. “Of course there’s guards – posted outside the door. The only time they’re not there while they have me trying to put FILSS back online is when they’re out taking a piss and you can hear the bathroom from–”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than the echoes of a flush brought both of their attentions to the back of the room. 

Once footsteps started, Wash felt an entirely new wave of anxiety wave over him. 

He wasn’t catching a break lately and there was no need to try it now. 

Wash grabbed Niner by the wrist and held her arms out over the side of her wheelchair. She resisted immediately and tried to pull her wrists back to her chest. 

“Hey, what the fuck are you–

Yanking her arms back at full force, Wash took out his gun to Niner’s slightly screaming horror and then held it to the center of the cuffs. Without further warning, he shot the cuffs in half and freed her from the desk. 

“Oh shit,” she said with a heavy breath, holding one hand to her heart. She then grabbed Wash by the elbow and forced him to her level so that she could glare directly into his visor. “You pull shit like that again without warning me, I’ll eat you for breakfast.”

Brows raising to his hairline, Wash nodded slowly. “Alright, I believe you,” he said just before the doors opened. 

“What the fuck! It’s _him!”_ the guard shouted before pulling out a rifle and beginning to fire on them both.

"Holy _shit!”_ Niner snarled, hitting the ground sideways and letting out a grunt as she struggled to sit up on her elbows. “Wash, you piece of shit! How did you not know there was a guard!?”

“Some guard! Who abandons post to go to the bathroom?” Wash snapped back, getting up just long enough to return fire over the desk and sink back down. “Okay, we’re going to need to get out of here _fast_ if we get out of this at all.”

“Yeah, sure. _Now_ you’re interested in speed,” she retorted before her eyes fell on some of the radio frequency screens that she had drug off the desk with her. Her eyes all but bulged as one of them lit up. “Oh my god.”

Wash stood up and managed to shoot the guard through his visor at long last. 

He turned just as Niner pulled headphones on over her head and began frantically typing at the screens. It was _not_ amusing to the former Freelancer.

“Hey! Stop whatever you’re doing!” he ordered, grabbing Niner and setting her chair upright again. “I’m getting us to the hanger and–”

Niner smacked his hands away from her chair the moment she was no longer at risk of turning over and began feverishly adjusting the comm frequencies. Her eyes were as determined as they had been in the dogfights they used to get into for Freelancer. 

“No, the flying vehicles are too easily tracked,” she told him without looking his way. It’d require constant cloaking and coding from someone with my level of clearance to not get spotted in the air.”

“Then _do_ that when we get there,” Wash ordered. “And once you do you’re going to explain _exactly_ how I got on the Most Wanted list. And then help me track down an AI and a former Freelancer.”

“I ain’t doing _shit,_ Wash,” Niner warned him, looking up at  last. “ _You’re_ going to the garage and getting a jeep for yourself and getting the hell out of here. _I’m_ answering this signal.”

Caught up in the moment, Wash was already stepping toward the door before he spun back around and had the time to balk at her. “What!? After all that, you’re going to just change your mind and stay here? You _just_ told me they’ll kill you.”

“Yeah, but I’ll make them have to work for it,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Thanks for freeing me. Now shoo, I have to answer this frequency.”

Angrily, Wash stood his grounds and waited on her to change her mind yet again. 

For the most part, Niner went on with her business before catching sight of Wash again. Then she turned to him directly and put her hands on her hips. “Washington, get the fuck out of here while you still can. Or don’t. I don’t give a damn.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you give me a way to track Wyoming,” he told her. “I’m not leaving here empty handed after everything. I promised Caboose and Tucker too much, too.”

“Goddammit, Wash, just use my security clearance to increase the sensitivity of your beacon tracker,” she growled. “It’s Zero-Four-Seven-Nine.”

Wash stared at her expectantly. “What are you seriously?”

“Yes!” she snapped before freezing. “Wait. What did you say about a caboose?”

Taking his turn to ignore her for once, Wash turned from Niner and reached up to his helmet, messing with the frequency output. The moment he did, he began receiving alarms from beacons he wasn’t even aware were on the Recovery server.

“Thanks,” he said before taking off toward the door. “And who I made promises to? None of your business.”

Niner glared at him suspiciously and put her attention back to the screens. “So just abandoning a handicapped woman with not a second’s thought, Wash?”

"What can I say?” Wash said continuing on. “Learn by example. And I’ve had plenty of time watching how others leave me behind.”

If Niner had any comments to make on that final blow, Wash didn’t hear them. Niner wanting to be caught and imprisoned or worse, well, he couldn’t deny that there was a hint of satisfaction in it for Wash after being made a fool behind his back for so long by her and Freelancer. 

But he had plans to leave and to get things done. 

The layout of the facility really hadn’t changed since he left, and to Wash’s great relief, the garage was not too far away.

Unfortunately, just as he could settle his sights on the entrance, two familiar soldiers stepped in front of it with their guns drawn. 

Surprised, Wash skidded to a halt. “Anderson? Smith?” 

The two once-green Recovery agents stood firm with their aims locked on him. He hadn’t seen them since IL-Q2′s investigations, and apparently neither of them had warm and fuzzy feelings about meeting up with their former superior officer again. 

“Drop your weapons, Sir, and put your hands on top of your head!” Anderson warned, her stance solid, but not ready for movement given by how her knees were locked. 

Still a rookie.

“Fuck that, orders are shoot on sight!” Smith yelled, nearly giddy as he waved his gun and begun firing. 

Wash took a hit to the shoulder, seething with it before lunging at them. Before Smith’s second shot or Anderson’s first, Wash kicked Anderson’s legs out from under her, twisted her gun hand and used it to fire at Smith’s foot.

The soldier howled at the pain before Wash grabbed him and headbutted him hard enough to knock him out. 

Wash left Smith crumpled on the floor and ignored Anderson as she sat nearby, curled around her no doubt sprained appendage. 

He didn’t have time for them, and while a prickly part of his brain knew there was probably a mistake in leaving _anyone_ from Freelancer around to make life harder for him later, there was a strangely Donut sounding voice opposing it. 

Racing, Wash didn’t have much time to inspect everything around him but even concentrating on the jeeps themselves, he couldn’t help but notice the skid marks, tire treads, and burned scuffs damaging the garage. 

Whatever had happened to the outside of the building had carried on in the garage as well. And he couldn’t help but think that they were related. 

Only feet away from the jeep he set his sights on, Wash heard another shot and found himself falling before he ever registered the sharp pain in the back of his thigh. 

Even hitting the ground, Wash readied and proceeded to roll onto his back with his sidearms drawn. He aimed back at Anderson who was managing without her dominant arm to take aim with her gun. 

It would’ve been impressive to the Freelancer if he hadn’t been left bleeding for it. 

A few shots of his own, Wash had Anderson on the floor screaming about her own legs, but not a whole not of time himself. 

He crawled the short distance to the jeep and pulled himself into the seats without putting pressure on his bleeding limb. 

“Goddammit, why doesn’t this new armor guard the _whole leg_ from behind!?” Wash snapped angrily as he got the vehicle to start and pulled himself into his seat more fully. 

Blood was already gushing over the jeep but he paid it no mind as he tore out of the facility, ignoring the gathering of more guards and the vain attempts to shoot him on his way out. 

He set course for Blood Gulch, bursting through the gates and laying on the pedal as much as possible. 

* * *

The moment Tex’s systems were online, she had had _enough._

She was _not_ about to lose. Not again. Not alone. 

Running on pure outrage, she drug herself back to her feet and headed over to the smoldering remains of the trap shack. She surveyed the equipment before beginning to separate the parts that she would need.

Once her radio was online, Tex compartmentalized her processor. 

Part of her began recording a message to transmit on the simulation troopers’ channel – an S.O.S., her coordinates, and an insult for good measure. 

The rest of her began constructing a bomb. 


	40. Recovery Two XII: What're You Going to Do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for the last chapter of Part XII. These chapters really did change things up and I’ve just been so humbled and so grateful for everyone’s amazing support and careful readership. I’m so impressed with how well you guys come together with theories and ideas for what’s going to happen next each chapter and it makes writing this giant, convoluted mess just that much more fun to write on my end. So thank you all so very much!
> 
> Special thanks to @freshzombiewriter, @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @washingtonstub, Yin, CABRALFAN27, @prettyarbitrary, @notatroll7, and @ephemeraltea for the feedback!

The shot was still crackling in his ears, echoing so loudly that North didn’t think he was ever going to hear anything else again. Then he watched through the scope as things continued to digress into disaster. 

He never got a clear shot of either of them again, not that he would have been able to take it with the echoing between his ears. 

Instead North watched as his former friend fought for his life out of range. A predicament that North had put him in. On _orders,_ of course.

They were only orders on the other side of his scope, and North harshly reminded himself of that fact with every spare thought he could collect. 

Which weren’t many with the way Theta was raging inside of his skull. 

Finally, the ringing of the shot stopped just long enough that North could glance to his shoulder where Theta was projected, utterly mortified. 

“What are you _dong,_ North!?” Theta screeched, voice strained as if it had been the hundredth time he had asked. 

A part of North knew that it had been.

“You shot him, you _actually_ shot him!” Theta’s voice cracked. 

“And you didn’t have to help, Theta,” North said lowly. “So hold onto that and keep operating all the other systems of the suit, monitoring South – do everything you can. Let me worry about this.”

Theta stubbornly remained projected. “He’s our friend!”

“And following South so that she can keep us useful to Control is the only thing keeping us alive,” North reminded him harshly. “There’s only room for concern about family here now, Theta. I hate it, I _do._ But friends–”

“York and Delta _are_ my family!” Theta cried out. “I thought they were yours, too!”

“You thought _wrong!”_ North bellowed before he could catch himself. “Theta, run my targeting system and give me updates on South before we lose her. Do you _want_ that? To lose _real_ family?”

The AI hesitated, a stewing anger like North had never felt from Theta before growing at the back of his mind. But the sprite flickered out of sight and immediately North felt the information being pooled and sorted from his various scanners. 

There was a fresh horror for what he had done pinging in his chest that he couldn’t tell was his own or not. He pressed it down and pulled up the scope again. 

The moment everything was narrowed through the lens, North felt a peaceful calm again and began searching the area for where everyone was. 

“North, no fatal fire!” South warned over the radio. 

“I got the memo,” he told her curtly, honing in just in time to see his bloodied former friend getting held in the air by Maine. His jaw clenched and he centered his reticle on the domed helmet, trigger finger clenched. 

A burst of aspiration hit him, unfamiliar enthusiasm for taking a shot – a vicious and _righteous_ need to pull. 

North took his finger off the trigger entirely and watched with slight horror as Maine tore York’s implants from his skull. 

The desire to shoot Maine, to make things ‘ _right’_ disappeared completely and was replaced instead with a far more familiar influence. Fear. Paranoia. Anxiety. 

Theta retreated to his normal size and influence, coiling back into the implants in North’s own head. He was horrified enough that North blinked and looked away from the scene as Maine finished with York’s body. 

_That will be me that will be me that will be me that will be me that will–_

“Theta,” North said calmly. “You’re unwound. Retreat more into the armor. I need to cover South and the others as they go after Maine. I can’t do that with you trying to make me take shots and then giving me the whiplash of being freaked out.”

The anger flickered up agin unexpectedly. _Like you can be freaked out by anything,_ Theta snapped viciously. 

Despite himself, North faltered with the accusation, his trigger finger itchy even with its distance to the rifle’s trigger. But Theta didn’t relent, and even without seeing each other the two of them commenced in a stand off. One that boiled North’s blood.

They were _wasting time._

Before any resolution could be satisfactory, North’s helmet binged. 

“North, where the fuck are you!? I need my eyes! Where’s Maine?” South’s voice was the sort of strained viciousness that made North snap back into attention. 

“Looking for him,” North answered, turning from his position and quickly reassembling his equipment to look from a new angle. 

Silently, Theta began running over scans and cameras as well, skimming for any sign of Maine in their range. 

“You better be _finding_ him, asshole!” Sharkface snarled over the comm. “We can’t lose a lead like this!” 

“Shut up!” South barked just as North caught sight of her running across the freeways. She was moving in the same direction she had seen Maine run toward but was nowhere in the same area as him so far as North’s targeting computers and own line of sight could see. “But, North, swear to god you better be giving me some directions.”

“I’m working on it,” he responded thinly. 

There was nothing. 

His stomach churned uneasily as North continued searching with no results to be found, but he could not find the slightest sign of Maine anywhere on his radar. Which meant he was far, _far_ out of range already, somehow cloaking…

 _Or he’s_ really _close to us, North,_ Theta whispered. 

Refusing to rip his sights from the scope of his gun again, North just gritted his teeth. “He can’t be,” he said with a confidence he should not have been able to afford.

There was a prickling of the hairs on the back of North’s neck but he refused to fully acknowledge it. His attention was split instead on scanning the area, looking for possible blindspots where Maine would be hiding, and keeping track of his sister.

His sweep faltered when, on the other side of his scope, North saw Carolina curled protective around York’s body. 

North’s mouth became intolerably dry and his hand shook – he didn’t know why his hand was shaking. He couldn’t make it stop. 

He kept his trigger finger away from the rifle, as far away as he could manage while still utilizing the rifle’s scope. He needed to steel himself, he needed to look away–

“Not to add to the growing list of ways we’re fucked,” Not-CT added to the chatter, “but Control is binging us back to the ship. Immediately.”

“What?” North managed, pulling his eyes away from the sights.

“Absolutely _not!_ We need Maine, those are our orders! Everyone keep looking!” South ordered without hesitation. “We do _not_ go back to Control empty handed. Do you assholes _get_ that?” 

“You might want to clear it up with Control then, because they’re pissed,” Not-CT said, sounding distinctly satisfied with the development himself. 

Theta projected over North’s shoulder, looking toward the sight where York and Carolina still were. There was something anxious and broken about the way he looked longingly out over the city, even if it wasn’t him, even if it was just an impression the little AI was printing onto North’s mind, unwarranted. 

He dropped his head and flickered out. 

 _Delta’s not there anymore,_ he decided what North already knew. _And they said in class that forceful ejection will kill people. Do you think York can make it?_

The question struck something deep inside of North.

If York was alive, then North had a chance at going back and regretting everything. That there was going to be a need for his actions to be explained, maybe forgiven. That _North_ would possibly be forgiven. 

And North just couldn’t have that. Not that far dug into his life’s philosophy.

“No,” North said simply.

Theta retreated to North’s armor and the Freelancer didn’t blame him. Even felt a little proud of him. Theta needed things like a _future_ and _trust_ and _forgiveness_ that a sniper living a black-and-white existence couldn’t afford. And as much as it felt like a betrayal, there was a _chance_ for him that North’s life wasn’t going to afford. 

It felt good for North to see his siblings having that much in common. 

“Get to the ship. Get there now,” South said, voice vicious and sharp. As if each syllable was being clawed out of her throat. “They’re not interested in more speed boost enhancements so Carolina’s not worth it. Everyone just. Get to the ship. Something came up.”

Closest to the ship, North slowly got to his feet and checked around their surroundings one last time before gathering his equipment in one swoop and heading toward the ship’s entrance. 

Theta was already interacting with the ship’s various processes as they entered the cabin, starting them up for immediate lift off. But one thing he didn’t have to prepare even slightly was the large view screen so easily recognizable as Control.

North stood in front of the screen, eyes squinting suspiciously at it as the others finally boarded and joined him in staring. 

All save for South who let out a flustered noise, shoved past North, and began to take control of the ship. 

“You’re pulling us out of the field!? Before I could rip those Freelancer leftovers _apart!?”_ Sharkface roared at the screen. 

North watched as South’s hands gripped the steering of the ship tighter, but she stayed quiet. The sort of thing that told North that whatever was about to be said was going to be _bad_. 

“Circumstances have drastically changed with the infrastructure of Project Freelancer in the time it took for you to fail your mission objective,” Control said bitingly. “No reward obtained through a side quest you decided on in the field was going to make up for failing to capture Agent Maine, but rather spend _more_ of this valuable time table.”

Sharkface let out a roar, punching the door of the cockpit. “This _failure_ is because of these Freelancer _chucklefucks_ you’ve put in charge!” 

Unable to keep her mouth shut, South turned and snapped at Sharkface, “Ever think that just _maybe_ it’s because you two fuckers can’t take orders and break _every solitary plan_ this group has in their favor because of some shitty vendetta _no one else_ in this arrangement gives two fucks about!?”

“Not even _slightly,”_ Sharkface roared before turning his eyes on North instead. “I can tell you _exactly_ whose fault it was that this bullshit happened. _You!”_ He aggressively pointed in North’s face. “Our eyes in the sky. Mister _Amazing Sharpshooter._ You had visual on _everything_ until we needed you to keep track of Maine and then you froze! Fucking _froze!”_

Narrowing his eyes, North stood his ground. “Don’t point at me,” he warned. 

Moving closer, Sharkface continued to point right in North’s face. “What’s the matter? Thought you were a solid, cold, bonafide _badass!_ Never heard of you freezing in the field when it was _my_ people you were shooting in fucking _half_ like a maniac! Never heard of you second guessing a target when it meant you got to blow out someone’s brains you didn’t know. What? It _hard_ when you know them? Does it make you want to pretend you’re fucking _human_ for a goddamn minute!?” 

Theta stayed coiled, raging in the back of North’s head. He was controlled, maintained. 

So North knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that when he grabbed Sharkface’s arm, twisted him over and wrestled the man to the ground, that it was all him. That the rage and _frustration_ was entirely his own as the fists were flying .

“North!” South bellowed beside him.

Theta came to the forefront of his mind, whispering reassurances and calming thoughts that North couldn’t force himself to care for anymore. Not even when the tides turned and Sharkface flipped North onto his back and began wailing on him in return. 

There was no room for further thought as South grabbed Sharkface and flung him to the other side of the cockpit, into Not-CT, and stood in front of her brother. 

“Everyone _back the fuck up!”_ she demanded. “I don’t give a shit _whose_ fault any of this is. We’re going back to Control and getting briefed. _Do you all understand this or do I have to drill it into your thick skulls?”_

Silence rang supreme on the ship, angry guarded looks thrown back and froth between the two groups. 

“If I may,” a calculated, disturbingly familiar voice whispered from the same speaker as Control. “I believe that these events have caused quite a bit of emotional and psychological distress for Agent North Dakota. I believe a session with me should help put things in perspective–”

North grabbed South’s hand even though she didn’t offer it and pulled himself back to his feet shakily. He walked over to the console and narrowed his sights on the viewscreen’s controls. 

“If you want to psychoanalyze me, Counselor, you can do it in person,” he told the man darkly before flipping the switch off. 

“North, don’t you–” South’s mouth snapped shut as North turned off the screen. She looked at him in complete rage. “Everyone out of my cockpit.”

“ _Your_  cockpit?” Not-CT snapped.

“I said _get the hell out,”_ South snapped. She watched angrily as the two Insurrectionists stalked out then she turned expectantly to North, her full boiling rage as familiar and felt to North in that moment as it had ever been. “You’re going to get us both killed, and you’re doing such a good fucking job of it I don’t know which direction to watch from.” She told him coldly. “You get out, too. Don’t think this conversation’s over, though. I’m just waiting to strangle you _after_ I try to fix as much as I can.”

North tilted his head back before nodding in acknowledgement and heading out the door. 

He had never felt so hollow. 

* * *

It was beginning to become an annoying pattern in her life, showing up on Charon property and being immediately quartered off from her brother. 

But not only was South becoming accustomed to the arrangement, she was fairly certain that if it had been any other way at that point, she might’ve gone through with her threats of strangulation. 

When she burst into Hargrove’s office, she was coming in hot.

“You have another failure to add to your collection,” Hargrove said, not even hesitating at the pissed off soldier threw herself into his personal space. She wondered where someone who looked so much like a moldy potato found such confidence. “I do hope you’re not about to do anything _else_ that should make us both regret our arrangement.”

“This failure is _not_ mine,” she growled. “It’s not even my brother’s. This all snowballed because of those two assholes you keep assigning with us. As long as they’re too busy being pieces of shit and not taking orders, my hands are tied.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I’m pretty damn sure you _know_ that at this point. _Sir.”_

Hargrove put a hand to his chin. “Agent South, are you informing me that the position of leadership is too difficult for you to maintain?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my leadership,” she said snidely. “There’s just not any possible way I can be _chief_ without any _braves.”_

“And just what is your brother then?” he asked, jaw visibly clenching. “Because so far I’ve seen evidence of nothing but _liability.”_

“Stop being obtuse! You _know_ I’m right about those Insurrectionist fuckers!” she cried out. “Why are you doing this to these assignments!? Do you not _want_ me to get you any fucking results? Is that _it?_ Is this a joke?”

Hargrove stomped his foot down, which at first South thought nothing of, but almost immediately after realized was a _huge_ mistake on her part. 

The armor around her clenched together tightly, joints freezing, pieces fixing together so tightly that the fitted plates of her chest piece barely expanded enough to allow for a full breath of air.

Hargrove stood beside her before walking around casually, hands behind his back, like he was circling prey. And South watched, both mortified and annoyed, as she saw that in the palm of one of those hands behind his back, Hargrove was holding a remote.

“You have made the mistake of overstepping your boundaries now _several_ times with me, Agent South,” Hargrove told her stiffly. “You seem to think your skills and position render you _invaluable_ to my interests. I assure you, it could not be further from the case.” 

When Hargrove stopped in front of her, it was only South’s helmet that kept her from spitting at him. That and the severely lacking capacity her body had for breathing at the moment. 

“ _This_ will be the last time I pretend your delusions of grandeur are in any way _acceptable_ to me,” he warned her. “Are we clear?”

South narrowed her eyes, focusing on breathing rather than giving the only answer he would have found acceptable. 

After his patience wore thin, Hargrove used the remote again and with a shock, South regained control of herself. 

Immediately, the Freelancer dropped to her hands and knees in front of Hargrove, wheezing to make up for the depletion of oxygen she had just undergone. 

“Now then,” Hargrove said, not paying her struggle any mind, “Despite these harsh realities, I _do_ find myself rather fond of your ambitions. If anything, your ingenuity puts me in mind of those whose talents are considered… the _best._ And the _best_  find my benefaction rather consistent.” 

Taking a big gulp of air, South looked up at Hargrove confidently. “I _am_ the best,” she hissed. “And I can prove it to you if you let me _choose_ the game and choose the pieces I play with.”

Hargrove’s mouth curled into a frown. “Come now, South. I’m sure you know that the game is _not_ played by your rules. They are played by _mine.”_

"And you are a _smart man,”_ South ground out, every word feeling like a punch to her integrity. “Alright? I _know_ you can see that every fucking thing I’ve said is true, that you’re _losing_ because you’ve got all the pieces but you’re choosing to not play them right.” She pushed onto one knee. “Choose to play me right, Chairman. If you just leave Maine up to me and North, we’ll deliver him to you on a silver platter!”

At that, Hargrove actually _laughed_ at her. 

“Your brother is as much at fault as my other soldiers,” he reminded her. “I’ve reviewed the scenario. He was _not_ on point. And I find him far less trustworthy than my other employees. he has no personal reason to work for me.”

"Yes he does!” South snapped before she could stop herself. “He has _me,_ okay? I’m his reason. And more than that, you abso-fucking- _lutely_ can trust that as long as I’m on your side he’s on your side.” 

“Oh? Sibling love?” Hargrove mocked.

"I’ll put it this way,” South said, pushing the rest of her way to her feet, ignoring how wobbly and useless her legs were feeling after the forced lockup. “That shit show we had temporarily? That’s because my dear brother just put a hole through maybe the one person he cared about in this world more than me and his AI on my order,” she informed Hargrove. “He did it. And never once after did he ask to go back and check on him.”

Hargrove hummed thoughtfully, putting a hand on his chin. “What you are saying then, Agent South, is that you will be able to control him from any further… _outbursts_ I should say.”

“Put us together,” she demanded. “Put us together, and put us to ourselves. A mission of our own, and we’ll take care of Maine for you, and anything else from Freelancer you want us to take down. We’ll be your people.

The businessman looked at her suspiciously. Then, slowly, he held out his hand. 

South shook it immediately.

*

When she found North, he was nearly done putting his armor back on, and not exactly happy about it. 

But he didn’t have fresh bruises or anything else to indicate she could go back and pitch a fit. Unlike last time where her brother’s position in the Charon hierarchy was horrifyingly clear. 

It simply meant that North having his equipment removed from him went back to what Hargrove had been saying. They didn’t trust him, and North’s assets were more valuable than his person. 

South was beginning to know that feeling very well, but she was determined that very soon that was all going to change.

North turned and looked at her just before putting his helmet on. 

“You done playing nice?” he asked. 

“You done making my life hell?” she asked back. 

He didn’t respond to that so much as return to a very controlled set of tasks, loading his weapons, checking over equipment. Every now and then a flicker of light appeared over his shoulder, just long enough to be noticed before flickering out again. 

It didn’t take a genius to guess it was Theta’s version of whispering to North. 

Only, unlike normal, every time Theta made contact visibly, and sometimes when he didn’t, North flinched away and turned to a different task. They were out of sync at the very least, actively working against each other at the worst.

South kept note of it for later, but first she had responsibilities to handle, both as a leader and as a sister. 

“North,” she said firmly, drawing her brother’s attention back up to her. “I’m sorry how things worked out with York,” she continued. “I wasn’t his biggest fan, but he was… Well, he was important to you, and I’m at least enough of a sister to know how much that means. So. I know our last assignment was hard on you–”

She watched her brother’s shoulders drop and his head tilt back as he looked at the ceiling. As if he was _genuinely_ annoyed that she was speaking. 

“Don’t do this,” he said sharply. “Don’t try to talk with me about this.” He turned his head back toward her, his visor glinting dangerously. “I made a choice. The choice I made was _you._ And I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to regret it. I just want the choice to be respected. By someone.” 

The last words were met with an angry look to his shoulder, though there was no flicker of light or life to be seen there. Though that did little to discourage North’s raging huff of breath. 

South remained quiet for a moment before slowly nodding. “Okay,” she said. “I can do that.” 

With a careful eye on North, South turned toward the door. “Come on, brother,” she beckoned. “We’re going hunting.”

He followed her without another word, and South more than respected it. She went so far as to feel a mounting pride in her chest from it. 

There was a chance she could actually deliver on her deal with Hargrove after all.


	41. Intermission: What Once Was Old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I *was* going to wait until Tuesday for this update, but I think you guys will be getting a Zero chapter instead. Just trying to move this puppy along~ I think this is a chapter that you guys will find you’ve been waiting for for a while so far as some answers are concerned : ) 
> 
> Special thanks to @freshzombiewriter, @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @washingtonstub, @notatroll7, and Yin for the feedback!

There was something deeply, sincerely wrong with her that her reaction to seeing Washington again was not genuine elation but dumbfounded surprised. The realization that she had honestly thought she would never see him again and had allowed the drama with the other agents, the imprisonment, the endless interrogations and the forced labor, to bury any sentiment or mourning she might have had.

In other words, Niner was more fucked up than she had first thought she was. And _that_ was saying something. 

Almost as fucked up as forcing her would-be rescuer to leave her as she desperately reached to answer the open channel that had gone off throughout the chaos. 

She may have been imprisoned and forced to work for those she had helped Carolina and York rebel against, but Command was still _her_ station, and it was still _her_ domain. So she knew the equipment and channels by heart, knew that the rest of Freelancer with FILSS down had no concept of what sort of transmission they had allowed through to _Niner’s_ station. 

Which was about the only advantage she had at the moment while Wash drew the rest of the security team’s attention away.

“Carolina!” Niner cried out over the radio the moment she heard it crackling to life in her headphones. “Where the hell have you been? Why the _fuck_ are you calling this? What are you–”

“H-help!” 

The uncharacteristic desperation, the broken off choke in the midst of her words – Carolina sounded like Niner had never heard her before. 

She sounded _defeated._

“Carolina?” Niner tried again, quieter and more confused. “Carolina, what’s going on?”

“He’s going to die,” Carolina said without context. “I’m doing my best, I really am, but I don’t have equipment, I don’t have a way out– He’s going to die if I don’t get help. _I need help._ Niner, please. If you can do anything, _send anyone_ – I’ll give them what they want. i’ll work for whoever. I have information they need. But I _can’t_ be responsible for losing York. I can’t– He can’t die on me.”

Niner thought over the words, over how hysteric her friend sounded, and then looked up to the security feed over her monitors. 

Just as she had expected, Washington was drawing the brunt force of the security team and was taking them to the garage for his own desperate escape. 

“First off,” Niner said lowly, “you put your goddamn head together. _Whatever_ happened to you two and whatever caused it, you can deal with later. Right now you addressing wounds, applying pressure – whatever in the hell you can to buy me time to get there.”

“I _am!”_ Carolina bit back, finally sounding like her less than reasonable self again.

It almost made Niner want to kiss that unbridled combative spirit Carolina had at heart. So easy to unlock even in the most harrowing of times. 

“Good, then you’re going to keep at it!” Niner ordered. “And you’re going to switch your helmet radio to the frequency I’m sending to you right now. Make that switch in _thirty seconds_ and don’t say a goddamn word until I open the channel first. That _includes_ mumbling to yourself.” 

“Copy,” Carolina said stiffly.

“And another thing, you don’t offer your services, or _yourself,_ for anything or _anyone_ ever again,” Niner snapped. “We’re done with that shit. You and I both. Free agents.” She paused for a breath then growled, “And you should’ve already switched frequencies!” 

The line went dead and Niner wasted no time in throwing the headphones across the room, looking around for the nearest heavy object she could grab, and then smashing the entire console with it. 

Turning around in her chair, Niner scanned the room and quickly enough found the gun left on the floor from Washington shooting the first guard. 

It would have to do.

Niner pushed herself forward, mind and heart racing. Her nostrils flared with every breath, but despite the panic within and around her, Niner’s instincts gravitated toward calm.

She was a fighter pilot still, and the chaos fueled and sharpened her impulses. She thought clearer. She pressed forward with more determination than ever. 

On her way out the door, Niner scooped down and took the gun, laid it on her lap, and continued to push her chair with defiant speed toward the opposite direction of the garage. 

It was not only opposite of where the action was between Washington and the security teams, but it was opposite of the hanger bay. Niner’s old home away from home.

Not once did she stop, brain filled to the brim with every safety protocol the building had and each map and building layout. 

As a pilot her attention to detail was remarkable. As Command’s go-to correspondent and direct attendant it was _unmatched._

By the time she reached the hanger, lockdown procedures where in order and doors were refusing to open, especially the last one standing between herself and a pelican. 

Angrily, she glared at the door before pulling out the gun in her lap and blasting the keypad, sending the door springing open. 

Unfortunately, it got her some attention she would have rather avoided.

“What the hell!?” the guard just inside the hanger asked, turning around to see Niner in the door. 

He didn’t get far, however, as Niner quickly rammed into him with her chair then grabbed his arm, disarming him before delivering a firm punch to his face. 

The guard went to the floor in a moaning heap and Niner continued toward the first available pelican. 

As she reached the ship, Niner punched in boarding passes and waited for the descent of the ramp before bothering to look back at the guard and see him wavering on his hands and knees. Her scowl deepened. 

“Hey, asshole!” Niner yelled, rolling herself to line up with the pelican’s ramp. She waited for him to look her way before continuing. “I know you’re just doing your job and what not. Sorry for the lumps. Whatever, comes with the territory. _But_ , if you could do something for me when Command starts to question you about just how the hell you let this happen, I need you to give them a message for me.”

When he didn’t verbally respond other than the incoherent curses under his breath, Niner delivered her two fingered message to him then continued onto the pelican. 

Entering the ship, moving to to the cockpit, plugging in her coordinates and shifting the radio to the frequency she had given Carolina just before – being a _pilot._

It was second – _first_ – nature to Niner all over again. 

The hanger door opened and in an instant, Niner returned to the skies. 

* * *

The beach front was obviously the best selling point of the evil lair they had found. 

It was an _evil lair_ in the sense that O’Malley and his business partner, Agent Wyoming, kept insisting that it was both evil and therefore a lair, though Doc found the binary morality complex rather disconcerting if he was completely honest.

And one of Doc’s faults was that he was unreasonably honest most of the time. Especially when others were not in the mood to hear it. 

It was probably why he flunked everything that involved a bedside manner.

The one bright spot to be had in the situation of sharing one’s boy with an increasingly malevolent computer program who had a consistent audience with a strikingly British sounding mercenary was that at least the program seemed capable of translating the Spanish speaking robot’s commentary. 

It was the only way Doc had learned they had equally measured concerns about the reality of their new location and its potential in being decorated. 

Returning from a stroll around the beach, Doc found Wyoming exactly where they had left him – elbows deep in a dismantled computer with a giant blue screen glowing above him. The screen was no longer speaking but displaying various schematics and instructions with a soft hum as ambiance. 

Doc couldn’t help but feel like the ambiance would have been _great_ for yoga later. 

“Hey! Still busy, I see,” Doc said lightly as he came into the room. He then glanced to the propped up armor against the wall. “And Church is still unconscious, too. That’s probably not a good sign. Still think I shouldn’t check him out?”

“Are you a robotics engineer yet?” Wyoming asked absently, still working on the computers. 

“No, though I had Lopez pull up some applications to night classes in the area. It’s real weird, it looks like no one’s offering anything on the whole planet next semester!” Doc explained. 

“If you are not a robotic engineer than I doubt there is much you could feasibly do in regards to your blue friend over there,” Wyoming continued, not sounding like he paid much attention to Doc’s answer either way. 

With a sigh, Doc crossed his arms and glanced over toward Church’s slumped form again. “I guess,” he replied in a pout. “But he’s just so… creepy left that way, I guess.” Doc looked back to Wyoming and the super computer. “You know, like some sort of life sized doll? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with dolls, by the way. I had quite a few of them growing up! And we practice on mannequins in med school. But there’s a certain _kind_ of creepiness that comes from dolls. I think maybe it’s just the way dolls have been utilized in media over the years. I bet if you let me use the computer I could access some psychological research on–”

Wyoming let out a long sigh and actually stopped working long enough to glance over his shoulder. “Is there nothing left on the island for you to explore? To join Lopez on guard duty perhaps–”

“NO!” O’Malley let out explosively from Doc’s own lips. “Don’t you dare even suggest it! Do you realize how many inane facts I learned about _meteorological theories_ while we were walking on the beach? On a planet with _no_ changes to its atmosphere or time of day?”

Doc frowned. “I thought the information was kind of handy.” He paused an tapped a finger against the chin of his helmet. “Though, I think maybe we should rethink assignments. Lopez has been on guard duty for a _long_ time.”

“And he has no arms to use for the turrets,” O’Malley reminded everyone snidely. 

“Now, let’s not limit people based on preconceived notions of ability!” Doc chirped in.

Not listening to their arguing, Wyoming had continued his task until finally getting to his feet confidently and letting out, “Aha! We have done it, Gary!” 

Intrigued, Doc and O’Malley looked together toward the industrious mercenary and AI’s accomplishments. 

Without warning, Doc’s HUD was taken over by various scanning equipment which had readouts that blocked his vision. He flinched back and looked around only for the screen to obviously follow. “Hey! This isn’t fair!”

"It is magnificent,” O’Malley chuckled darkly, closing the windows one by one. 

Wyoming stood confidently, ignoring the sparks from his own armor as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I did a right ol’ job if I do say so myself.”

The blue screen of the computer gave a low hum.

“IT IS ADEQUATE  
GIVEN THE LACK OF   
RESOURCES.  
AND THE LIMITATIONS  
OF OUR  
EXPERIENCE  
COMPARED TO SIGMA.”

The bare mention of the name caused a high preening noise that, if Doc hadn’t known was mechanical, would have caused him even higher alarm. Still, he looked to the table where the instrument Wyoming had used earlier was sitting – it’d been hours since it was active and noisy, but it seemed acutely alarmed once again. 

Doc tilted his head curiously at it before O’Malley stiffened them up and walked them over. 

“The important thing, gentlemen,” O’Malley heckled, grabbing the device and moving back toward Wyoming’s hard work, “is that this will _work._ Are you ready, Gamma?”

“GARY.  
AND YES.”


	42. Recovery Zero XIII: Broken Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Chugging on ahead! Mostly because I’m curious to see how many times I’ll manage to update this sucker before I start classes on the 15th, and also because I zipped through writing this chapter. I seem to have a certain quota involving angst and York this week and I’d hate to skimp on any of my fics with that capability. No, no, seriously, thank you guys so much. I know this is a lot of updates in a very short amount of time (less than two days apart!) and I can’t thank you all enough for supporting this fic regardless. Thank you *so* much for that. It makes writing this fic a real blast to see so many people actively reading and looking forward to it. 
> 
> Special thanks to @icefrozenover, @washingtonstub, @secretlystephaniebrown, @analiarvb, @ephemeraltea, @notatroll7, CABRALFAN27, Yin, and @meteoratdusk for the feedback!

He couldn’t see. It was a simple fact that should have caused him immediate fear and panic, but it was also the kind of fact that was dwarfed in the enormity of something even bigger. 

He was _missing_ something. Something _important_  and it was too cluttered with static in his non-seeing head to really grasp onto why it was important. 

Something was wrong. And it wasn’t that he couldn’t see.

Jostled, his eyes rolled and, for the briefest of moments, light blurred in his – just one eye. That was supposed to be normal.

Then they rolled back into his head and he let them because his brain was muddled and shattered and there was a _throbbing_ that threatened to beat through his skull. It all hurt. _Everything_ hurt and there was a thunderous roar in his ears like the beat of a drum. 

For a moment, he thought the _da-thump-tum-da-thump-tum_ was the only thing he _could_ hear, that he shouldn’t expect any different, when he was jostled again. Head throbbing. The grind of plastic on metal and visa versa so loud and difficult to ignore. 

_Something was missing goddammit._

“Breathe!” a voice like an angel demanded of him. “Breathe, or I swear to–”

_da-thump-tum-da-thump-tum_

At that moment he realized he wasn’t breathing, and aching as it were his jaw still worked enough that he could open it wide. He _heard_ his gasp and _felt_ the hungry clamoring of his lungs for air more than he realized it was what he had needed all along.

Jostled again. Eyes rolling. The too loud _thump_ and the preening anguish of his head hitting pavement no matter how soft. 

 _God_ did that hurt. It hurt so much.

But his eyes were no longer spinning so loosely. 

 _Eye,_ his head foggily corrected. Because if there was one thing he couldn’t do, it was pass up an old joke. 

Tried and true, after all.

Another voice picked up where the last left off. He was jostled again, but more controlled, could feel the tight hold there was on his body. His vision was swimming and the noise around him too much. 

The voices weren’t right. They weren’t _Dee._

“Delta,” he moaned, like it meant something. Because it _did_ mean something.

Things shifted, he was moved but then he was still. Stiller than he could have ever wanted to be. The lack of friction, the lack of motion, after so much stimulation the lack of it felt like he had been so suddenly cut off from the entire world. He could barely take it. 

The fuzz began to cloud over him all over again and his eye rolled back in its socket. 

He was so tired. 

He had so much to be awake for.

He was missing _something._

“Delta,” he moaned.

 _Touch._ He felt the hand against his head, felt callouses and heard the scratch of them running through his hair like coarse bristles rubbing together. Everything amplified in his cotton filled head. 

“How much more can we give him?”

“It’d be easier to tell if I was in a suit with him–”

“No. That isn’t happening.”

His mouth was dry at those words. But it wasn’t like the fire that was lit in his skin and bones. It hurt and he was confused and–

His eye opened and light burned into his retina. He could feel something squeeze his hand and automatically he squeezed it back, unthinking, foggy. 

His head felt broken and empty, like a giant hand had reached into it and scooped out everything that felt important. Everything that had come to make him feel and think like _him._

And _god_ did it hurt. To think and to feel and to _squeeze_ his hand with all his might only to find that it wasn’t much of a squeeze at all. 

The rasping of his throat echoed through his bones and into his ears, following the _da-thump-tum-da-thump-tum_ that was becoming the white noise he knew it to be again. No longer was the pounding the only thing in his ears, he could _feel_ again. 

Red was in his vision, not all of it. Just enough, draping over a shoulder and into his sight, obscuring that damned halo of light at long last. 

Green was in his vision, too. Bright and beautiful green full of information and–

“Hey,” she whispered, choked and broken like his head. “Are you here? Are you with me?”

He couldn’t stop looking at that green and he thought of the only thing that could string his thoughts together again. Squeezed all he could and looked into those eyes. 

“Delta?” he asked, voice watery. 

She hesitated and sat back, letting the bright light swamp his vision once more, blinding him. 

There wasn’t really a verbal explanation, she didn’t offer him a reason for drawing away. But it was all he needed to know. 

“I’m going to take care of you, York, alright? You have to rest though. You’ve _got_ to pull through. I can’t do this without you,” she said, distracted and weary. Her hand squeezed his. “Okay?”

York let his eye slide closed, and though he knew he probably could, he didn’t squeeze back.

* * *

She had never expected to hear Niner’s voice again, and there was something _intrinsically_ wrong with her life that it was normal for Carolina to assume something so grave, but she didn’t have the time to focus on such things. Not when they were wounded, exposed, and surrounded on the freeway. 

There was an ETA for Niner’s help – whatever form _that_ took – but Carolina could hardly focus on _that_ of all things. Not with York bleeding in front of her and moaning and calling out incoherently. 

 _It’s okay, Cee,_ Epsilon promised in the most soothing tone he had ever taken in her mind. _It’s okay. I’ve got that covered. I’m checking the perimeter. I’ve got it. You just have to concentrate on York._

Carolina let out a choked noise, like something was caught in her throat. She wasn’t panicking – she couldn’t panic, she had trained too much, been through too much for it – but her limbs were weak and bumbling. And her eyes kept clouding with watery mess. 

She _had_ to concentrate but she didn’t know how much she could until–

York wasn’t breathing. 

The realization hit her so hard that it knocked the air out of _her_ lungs. She looked him up and down – his armor was chipped and broken, his kevlar mesh blooded and pocketed with holes. There was _more_ than just the injury from losing Delta.

Epsilon flickered to life over her shoulder. “Biofoam. You still have some!”

“He’s got too many injuries and he’s not _breathing,_ Epsilon!” she roared back, causing the AI to back off momentarily.

“Hey! _Listen_ to me!” he demanded, finally drawing her full attention. “Use the biofoam to close up the head wound you’re putting pressure on that way you can move around and do other stuff. Open his airway. Get him to breathe. One step at a time!”

It made sense – whether she truly agreed with the words or if Epsilon feeding information to her brain just as, if not more, quickly than he said them over her suit speakers, it _made sense._ And it helped her to confidently control one hand and reach for the biofoam container in her utilities. 

With the container of biofoam in hand, Carolina returned her attention to York’s head. Her other hand had remained on the back of his skull applying pressure, but the glove and gauntlet were coated in red. It made her stomach lurch uncomfortably.

“I have to move fast, I’ve got to stop this and then I have to get him breathing and then I need to check the perimeter for–” 

“Hey! _Hey!”_ Epsilon shouted, appearing again. “Not _fast,_ Speedy! One step at a time. And trust the bullshit to me!”

Carolina started to glare at Epsilon, a biting retort on her breath, when she remembered. She was _trained._ She could be _calm._ The fact that it was York in her lap and that it was her incompetence that got him there could not change everything she had readied herself for over the years. 

She redirected her attention to the steps at hand, turned York onto his shoulder and closed the bleeding wound at the back of his head. She turned him back onto his back, flat and positioning his head as carefully as she could. Each flutter of his eyes gave her something to work with – some fleeting hope. 

“Breathe!” she ordered him. “Breathe, or I swear to–”

The gasp York took in, however weak or forced it may have been, was one of the most beautiful things that Carolina had ever heard in her life. 

Taking a moment, Carolina soaked in that sound before moving on to the rest of his wounds.

Carefully, she laid his head back against the pavement, getting a second and more direct gasp from him as a result. His eyes opened, but his good eye was blown wide and unseeing. She looked at it only for a moment before moving to the next heavy bleeder. 

His arm was shot, and while that wasn’t unsurprising given the fights they had just been in, the size of the hole in his otherwise perfectly protective armor and the fact that it was through and through were distractingly large pieces of evidence that she simply couldn’t fit into the puzzle just yet. 

The bone was going to be severely broken, and Carolina wasn’t exactly sure what to do with it beyond stop the bleeding and splint as best as she could. 

Epsilon appeared again, his sprite looking down at the wound before glancing back up to Carolina for effect.

“Do you still have that biofoam?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered, looking up at him. “Why?”

“You’re going to need to put the nozzle inside of that and squirt what you can,” Epsilon explained. “Then use what’s leftover to close the armor.”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded. “This stuff is like biomedical quick dry cement – the first thing they teach you is to _not_ spray it into wounds, just on the surfaces to stop bleeding. Do you have any idea what it could do to his body to have this gunk closing up inside of his arm?”

The AI’s anger spiked in the back of her head for a moment – frustrated, spiteful, not enjoying being questioned. The irony of having such familiar feelings in her mind coming from someone _else_ for once might have caught up with her in less dire circumstances. 

“Carolina, listen to me!” he demanded. “One of the major veins in his arm is severed in there. It doesn’t look like it, but at _best_ he’ll lose his arm if we don’t do this, and at _worse_ he’ll bleed out entirely.” 

The diagnosis struck Carolina to the core. Her eyes widened and she looked up to York’s pale and shivering face as he continued to mumble incoherently when he _could_ manage to work his mouth at all. 

“Sometimes you’ve got to break a few rules,” Epsilon reminded her.

Carolina wasted no time in doing exactly as Epsilon told her, holding her breath until the armor was closed up. 

Then, unexpectedly considering how damaged the armor truly was, it lit up again. _Something_ was working. 

Carolina’s eyes shifted up and down York’s body, looking for some sort of clue as to what was happening before she turned to Epsilon’s hovering sprite instead. “What’s happening?” she demanded.

“There was too much exposed area through the armor for the Healing Unit to continue working. Plus it like to insulate damaged areas, which it can’t do when the holes are right where the wounds are,” Epsilon explained. “Honestly it’s kind of a huge design flaw. They should work out those kinks. Like… where _else_ are holes going to show up in the armor except for in the areas where there’s wounds. Duh.”

“Epsilon, give me a straight answer,” she pressed. 

“Right. Sorry,” he said. “We closed up some of the damage to the armor and sustained basic body functions for now so the Healing Unit’s activated again and probably sedating him as we speak. But just small amounts. It’s not being consistently monitored by an AI anymore.”

She marveled at the AI for a moment before tilting her head. “How are you… This isn’t like you. You’re so… _calm._ And _reasonable._ How do you know all this stuff?”

“I don’t know,” Epsilon said before flickering to green then back. “Guess I just… become who I need to be when I’m stressed.”

While she wasn’t comfortable with that answer, Carolina had far too much on her plate, and she instead turned full attention back on York. At least, she wanted to until Epsilon began buzzing so loudly in her ears that she couldn’t ignore it.

“Epsilon!” she growled, turning to the AI. “What!?”

“We’ve got non-friendly company coming up. You need to put your gun on them and just keep them at their distance for a few moments and then we’ll be alright.”

“What!?” she snapped.

There were loud sirens and the skidding of tires in the distance. She looked up jerkishly and reached for her sidearms, ignoring the slick way the blood coating her hands nearly made her lose her grip in a maneuver she had practiced hundreds of times before. 

The vehicles were familiar – Recovery Unit mongooses – and her sensors _would_ have been able to pick them up much further away had she been paying attention to them instead of leaving everything to Epsilon, whose former constant state of panic was beginning to be missed. 

“Epsilon!” she hissed at him.

“Just keep them where they are! _Trust_ me!” he begged.

“Trust you? I trusted you to tell me we were getting company _before_ we were completely surrounded!” she snapped off just in time for one of the agents across the pass to turn on his intercom and begin yelling himself.

“Hey! Motherfuckers! Stay where you are!” he yelled at them. 

Carolina kept her guns trained on them. “How about _you_ fuckers stay where _you_ are!”

Epsilon’s sprite nodded. “Okay, good. Excellent – you’re doing a great job. Just keep it up.

She tilted her head just enough to glare directly at Epsilon. “I’m going to fucking kill you, Epsilon. What the hell _is_ this!”

“A plan!” he shouted back.

“Could’ve fooled me!” she growled just before the other Recovery agents finished whispering to each other. 

“Yeah, you know what? Forget orders. She’s _obviously_ resisting arrest!” one of them said. “And she’s got guns!”

“So do we,” another argued.

She took the momentary arguing of the Recovery Unit to glance Epsilon’s way. Her fingers danced over the trigger of her guns but the AI kept his gaze locked on her, as if compelling her to extend that thinning trust _just_ long enough.

“Forget it! Just shoot before we _get_ shot!” one of the men finally shouted to the others. 

Carolina tensed herself and readied to fire juts when the air around them shook and, without umbrage, a pelican dropped from the sky, hitting the ground so hard it could be heard cracking. 

Standing up, Carolina looked as the sound of the Recovery soldiers’ bullets hit the other side of the metal ship. She was _completely_ taken aback, even as the loading dock opened in the side of the ship.

“Well!?” Niner’s voice called over the very frequency Carolina had been ordered to use. “What the fuck are you waiting for? You got glue on the bottom of your feet? Grab our guy and _get on_ already!”

“Niner,” Carolina said almost reverently. “But how–”

Epsilon’s sprite burst to light in front of her face to get her attention. “Hey! You heard the scary lady who always threatens to kick our asses! Let’s get the lead out!”

“R-right,” Carolina managed before racing toward York. 

His color was still off, and his body was limp as a noodle as Carolina struggled to throw his good arm over her shoulders. But he was no longer flinching in pain, and the blood over his exposed skin and hair was caking dry rather than continuing to flow freely. And the sedatives had kicked in, making the mushmouth he had been speaking earlier leave. 

Small improvements. 

“I’ve got you,” Carolina promised as they entered the pelican. “I’ve got you.”

*

Getting out of there, getting York stabilized – those had been the priorities at the time. Carolina could barely thing outside of them. Couldn’t imagine thanking Epsilon for dealing with the crisis in surprising calm and understanding. Couldn’t think of the fact that _Niner_ was there, that she had been there to save them. 

She couldn’t. 

York’s armor was barely holding together at the seams, and his Healing Unit was working overtime to fix what it could, but it was doing so with the sort of astounding speed of mending and repair that she could barely process it. 

While Epsilon was right about design flaws, the technology truly was above and beyond anything she could have imagined before. The sort of experimental tech that Freelancer should have made them proud to have helped test and utilize in the field. 

Not get them _killed_ for it.

Carolina watched York carefully for a few more moments, taking note of how deeply sedated he was, before finishing up setting his broken arm with the medical supplies in the pelican’s supply drawers. 

The arm was malleable in ways arms just _shouldn’t_ have been able to be, and it made the nausea that her stomach had settled on act up again. But Carolina pushed it down and watched York’s face screw together tighter as she no doubt forced his bones into stilted and painful positions. 

Her mouth pressed to a firm line as she listened to the huff of breath York struggled through and the low keening whines from his lips. “Epsilon,” she called as evenly as she could.

The AI appeared by her shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Are we sure he’s getting painkillers?” she asked, looking at the sprite carefully. “Like _very_ sure, no guess work?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Epsilon said, using her armor to run a bioscan all the same. “The Healing Unit started up with a regiment almost as soon as we got it to kick back on. Pain management’s one of the bigger parts it has.”

Carolina looked at York carefully, reaching forward with one hand and gently brushing back the matted, clotted hair on his forehead and looking carefully at the sutures for his reopened head wound. “Can we administer anything additional?”

The AI hummed through her mind with calculations and probabilities, the tinge of green returning to his glow for just a moment. 

She let it slide. For the moment.

“I mean, _yeah_ , we _could,”_ he said. “Carefully. And not a lot.”

Her eyes turned more directly toward Epsilon. “How much more can we give him?” she asked pointedly.

Epsilon gave a shrug, but nervousness was building in the back of Carolina’s mind like a mounting flame threatening to get out of control. “It’d be easier to tell if I was in a suit with him–”

Without even a second’s hesitation, Carolina turned from York entirely and leered at Epsilon, forcing the AI to back off again. “No,” she said simply. “That isn’t happening.”

“Okay, okay,” Epsilon said, waving her down. “It wasn’t really _my_ suggestion anyway.”

The comment was so unusual and so unexpected that Carolina almost began to question it when there was a throat clearing from the cockpit just a few feet away. 

“You stable back there?” Niner called over her shoulder. “Enough to come up here already? It’s been hours.”

Not wanting to lose the note on Epsilon’s behavior, Carolina stored it away for later and slowly got to her feet. She looked York over one last time before taking a breath and heading toward the cockpit herself, grabbing one of the flight suit jumpers along the way. 

She walked into the cockpit, already beginning to shed the bloodied, dented mess that was her own armor and earning a look of ire from the pilot.

“Hey, watch where you splatter stuff. I’m loaning this thing,” Niner attempted to joke. 

“I need to take off the gross parts and clean them,” Carolina replied candidly before hesitating. “You’re in the air again.”

Niner gave a shrug, as if it was nothing after over a year of being injured and left behind a computer to rot for the Recovery Unit’s needs. “Eh, I got tired of the wheels,” she said, looking to Carolina cautiously. “You alright? I mean–”

With the top layers of her armor gone, Carolina was still a bloodied mess but she couldn’t hold back much longer. Trained and collected as she may or may not be, she wore emotions like a fashion statement. 

Her arms were thrown around her friend’s shoulders and Carolina buried her face into the side of Niner’s head, letting out a shaky breath then breathing in the reality of her friend’s existence. 

She was _there_ and she was _alive_ and she had _just_ saved their lives like it was nothing. 

Like it was old times.

“I thought I was never going to see you again,” Carolina said against Niner’s neck. “I thought I got you taken away, and then I got York nearly killed, and _god_ poor Delta–”

“Well,” Niner said, patting Carolina’s shoulder with one freed hand awkwardly. “You really _will_ see the last of any of us if you make me _wreck_ this flying hunk of bolts so maybe work on letting me go so I can put this thing in autopilot.”

“You trust autopilot now,” Carolina said, pulling away from Niner enough to sniff back another emotional outburst and dry her eyes one handed. 

"Hell _no,”_ Niner said, immediately going through the motions of engaging autopilot all the same. “But I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah,” Carolina replied hollowly even before Niner completely turned to face her. 

The pilot had a scowl set to her face. “How’s our guy?”

Carolina couldn’t help herself from glancing back to York then to Niner again. “He just had an AI forcefully ejected from his neural implants while they were synced up. He’s shot, crushed, bruised, battered…” Carolina lowered her head, hugging her arms tight against her chest. “And still alive. Because I drug his pieces back together after being the one responsible for pulling them apart.” She then looked, fire back in her eyes at Niner. “So he’s not great, Niner. Not great at all.”

Niner sat in her wheelchair for a moment in quiet silence before shaking her head and snorting. “For fucksake… Glad that you Freelancers have your sense of dramatic presence still about you.”

For a moment, Carolina felt anger spark in her at the dismissive tone, but she couldn’t help but break to a snort of her own. It was a strange power only Niner had over her. “You don’t really miss it.”

“No, I don’t. It fucking pisses me off,” Niner grunted. 

The mood had flip flopped so much between them that Carolina was beginning to feel whiplash, so she reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose as she sighed. “Niner, I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re okay and that you came and that you’re still just… so _you_. But I need to know _how?_ How were you there? How did you escape punishment for helping us the first time around?”

As she looked back, Carolina could see that she had stepped out of line given the dark look in Niner’s eyes as the pilot looked back at her. 

“First off, Carolina, I didn’t escape _shit_  when it came to punishment,” she said, pointing at the bright orange garb she was still in. “They locked me up. I was in _prison._ Not for long all together, but long enough to know what it feels like to think you’re never going to see the light of day again.”

Chewing on the side of her mouth, Carolina searched for a way to apologize. When she came up with nothing of substance she decided it was just better to press forward instead. “Then how did you get out of that?”

Niner’s nostrils flared and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Lucked out,” she started off simply. “Freelancer’s being investigated by the UNSC, looks like they’ve got their balls in a vice grip and it’s freaking Freelancer out. No one even knows where the Director or the Counselor really are, and the UNSC started halfing personnel in every field sporadically. There’s not enough people to man the planetwide systems we had in place, and then when FILSS went offline without the Director around to boot her back up, they needed someone with all the technical experience possible to run the stations and try to fix vital computer assets. Someone who was no longer working on the books for the UNSC to fire or pull aside.”

“You,” Carolina surmised. 

“Every lucky me,” Niner nodded in agreement. “Weird thing was, right as your signal was coming in, I was actually _relieved_ of my duty by someone else breaking in. Did you send him without telling him it was _me?”_

For a moment, Carolina just stared at Niner completely perplexed before tilting her head. “What are you talking about?”

Letting out a low, aggravated sigh, Niner sunk her head and shook it. “Oh my _god_ you _still_ haven’t gotten in contact with him.” She looked back up, a fire lit in her eyes. “Carolina, _what the hell?_ You never got in contact with Wash? All this time you’ve been out on your own. What the hell _have_ you been doing? Trying to get yourself killed?”

“Wash freed you?” Carolina asked.

“Well, he got the job started. Inadvertently,” Niner said, waving her hand for emphasis on the accuracy of her assumptions. “Look, there was a _lot_ of shit going on and my first priority was getting out here to you guys.” She glanced toward the back, to York, and Carolina couldn’t help but follow the gaze. “Looks like it was the right decision, too.”

Things were calm, improving, but Epsilon began a nervous hum in her mind all the same. 

It startled Carolina into standing straighter, fists by her side. She looked to Niner’s curious gaze and realized just what information had unsettled her partner. 

“Niner,” Carolina said clearly. “You mentioned the UNSC was investigating and _that_ was causing the chaos going around for Freelancer.” When the pilot nodded, Carolina brought a hand to her chin. “When we ran into the Meta… _Before_ he attacked York and stole Delta, we ran into South, possibly North, and two other soldiers. South said she was going to arrest me and bring me in for the UNSC.”

Niner’s mouth hung open and her eyes blew wide before her fists came down on her armrests. “You hold the fuck up!” she snapped. “Are you… Are you telling me that South is _alive!?”_ she cried out.

Carolina tilted her head. “Is she not supposed to be?”

For a moment, Niner sat back in her chair, winded. Her head slowly begun shaking. “Son of a _bitch._ She’s… She’s alive. She duped us. The _UNSC_ has been duping us this whole fucking time. _Unbelievable.”_ She paused and then eyed Carolina. “Not unbelievable, actually. This is _exactly_ what we’ve been doing. Son of a _bitch._ What are they hiding from us?” 

Epsilon buzzed nonsensically before finally forming words again. _Put me in the dock._

“The dock?” Carolina repeated before glancing over to where she felt Epsilon pulling her attention. “You’re a Freelancer AI, Epsilon. You can sync with this equipment. It’s augmented for that sort of connection, even when you’re with me.”

_Oh, right. Delta did it before._

Confused, Carolina waited for the sprite to appear over the dash. “How do you remember that? Were you even constructed when that happened?”

She was so caught up in trying to get to the bottom of Epsilon’s behavior that she had completely forgotten Niner until the former Command operative nearly spun in a 180 to face the AI on her ship’s dash.

“What the hell – you actually got another one?” Niner asked.

“Didn’t you know?” Epsilon questioned snidely. “Wow, here I thought you were in control of Command! They can’t even keep records straight?”

“They do, that’s why I thought there was nothing in there stolen,” Niner snapped back. “I suspected, I knew you weren’t leaving empty handed, Carolina, but the records showed all the AI registered to the system were there.” Niner squinted untrustingly at the AI. “What’s your designation?”

“What’s it your business?” Epsilon asked haughtily, visibly riling up. 

“This is Epsilon,” Carolina said, immediately drawing Niner’s attention. “Yes. _That_ Epsilon.”

“Well, damn,” Niner said, rubbing at her face. “And here I thought breaking into headquarters, going after the Meta, chasing _tail_ in the middle of it all, didn’t have to mean you really were as crazy as it seemed.”

“Hey, language. Some of us here are sensitive,” Epsilon growled, frustrated already.

Carolina crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Epsilon. “I’m confused. You said you _became what was needed._ Did this particular moment need an additional asshole?”

“Look, what we need is somewhere safe to land and regroup. Talk out what each of us have found out since you and Carolina were separated,” Epsilon offered, looking to Niner. “I have a navigation system with suggested spots along our current path. According to _my_ information, they’re safe. But you might know what I don’t since all information for Freelancer has been going through _you_ now instead of through FILSS. Sound good?”

Niner seemed to be contemplating it until she glanced through the cockpit’s window and immediately straightened up, pushing herself forward toward the pilot’s chair. “What the fuck– Are you navigating!? Are you overtaking my autopilot!?”

Epsilon faltered for a moment before answer, “Maybe.”

“What the ever loving _fuck!”_ Niner snapped, grabbing her controls. “Get out of my computer!”

“No,” Epsilon said petulantly back. He then glanced toward the dashboard and watched as Niner began working through the controls at a breakneck pace. “What’re you – Hey! Did you just take the controls back? Why! I was flying us just fine–”

“Show me the map and I’ll fly us to an _actual_ safe location,” Niner snapped.

“Tell me where a safe location is and I’ll guide us there on my navigations,” Epsilon countered. 

Carolina saw that her part in the conversation was effectively over for the moment and sighed, leaning back against the doorframe. She watched the two bicker for a moment before movement caught her attention in the back. 

She looked over and saw that York’s head was rolling back and forth on the pillow she had found for him. But his movement was putting him at risk of falling out of the makeshift bed she made of the riding bench.

Without saying a word to either Niner or Epsilon, Carolina went to York’s side and dropped on her knees beside him. It was the most active he had willingly been since take off. 

Picking up his good hand, Carolina held it to her chin, watching as York’s eyes fluttered awake and left him staring blearily around. But they weren’t rolling back and forth and he didn’t seem to be entering another seizure. 

It was progress. It was _something._

Not sure what else to do, Carolina waited until his eyes focused on her again and she forced a smile. “Hey,” she whispered, voice more choked and broken than she had realized. “Are you here? Are you with me?”

York stared at her for a long moment. It seemed like he wasn’t going to speak or fully grasp onto reality then, quietly, he spoke.

"Delta?” he asked, voice watery.

Carolina hesitated, sitting back on her haunches. She saw York blinking at the lights a few times in her peripheral vision, but her focus was on the cockpit and the arguing between Epsilon and Niner.

She didn’t want to have this conversation with York. And she didn’t know what to make of what she had seen from Epsilon just earlier. 

There was too much going on. 

Taking a deep breath, she leaned back in over York and made sure his eye was focused on hers. 

“I’m going to take care of you, York, alright? You have to rest, though. You’ve _got_ to pull through,” she said, distracted and weary. She swallowed, thinking of the guilt and of the daunting tasks to come only for a moment and already feeling swallowed up by them both. “I can’t do this without you.” She squeezed his hand between both of hers. “Okay?”

York’s eyes slipped closed again, but his brow was folded and wrinkled, upset. He didn’t squeeze her hand back, but rather tugged slightly, weakly, away. 

Carolina refused to let him go, though she did lower his arm with hers to rest by his side, and then rested her forehead against his shoulder. 

She had created a complete mess…

* * *

His head was still full of cotton and the mere act of opening his eye sent painful tremors to the deep bruises circling them, but there was _something_ inside York that could not take resting with his head back and limp on a pillow any longer. 

And when he managed to take in the world around him, _instantly_ he knew he should have been observing every detail, clamoring for information, executing one of several plans for utilizing the environment to get free of _whatever_ place he was in.

But there was an echo where his thoughts were.

No, not _his_ thoughts. Just the thoughts that he had learned to lean on with a natural instinct. With a built in and established trust.

_Where was Delta?_

He sat up, but his bones and muscles ground against his command and he found himself wavering just inches from his mattress until gentle hands closed around his shoulders. 

York looked at Carolina and wanted to feel relief. But when he checked with his brain if it really was relief he should have felt or not, the thought echoed painfully in his head without a second opinion. 

Instead he looked at her blankly, brokenly. 

“Oh thank god, York,” Carolina said, removing one hand from his shoulders in order to gently caress his face. “You’ve been out for a few days. But look at you, already trying to sit up. That’s the fighting spirit.”

For a moment he stared at her, not sure what to make of the comment. 

Sitting up? Was that what he had been trying to do? He felt weak as a newborn kitten. With half the ferocity.

He waited for someone to decide if the analogy was logical or not, and received only silence for his patience. 

Instead, he had to decide on his own. And there was something truly _wrong_ feeling about that. 

Carolina’s smile looked defeated, even as she looked him over and rubbed his shoulder. “So weird,” she mused. “Back in Freelancer… whenever you were hurt I’d always stop worrying when you started talking again. That’s always the first thing you did when you were able to… Always ready to assure everyone how alright you were.” He watched her throat jump slightly. “I… I really miss that.”

Days, she had said it’d been _days_ since something since–

“Delta,” York realized out loud, voice hoarse and strained. 

Green eyes flickering up at York, Carolina couldn’t utter a word. Instead she took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. I’m… I’m sorry, York.”

York leaned back and turned his head from her. He asked three questions in his brain – the three that Freelancer had given him when Delta was implanted. The three that he had never bothered to ask because Delta had not been silent long enough since his implantation to let York get them out. 

_Are you there? Are you active? Do you know who you are?_

There was silence in his head where humming should have been.

“I’m not okay,” York whispered finally. “I’m… there’s nothing inside me. I’m hollow.”

Carolina shifted uncomfortably but she didn’t leave his side. All of the sudden she was planted firmly beside him, hands touching him, concern so strong that if Delta had been there even _he_ couldn’t have been confused by the social meaning behind her sentiments. 

But Delta wasn’t there. And York, for the first time since Freelancer began tearing them apart, somewhat wished Carolina wasn’t either. 


	43. Recovery One XIII: An Enemy's Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize SO very much for missing the update last week. In my defense, I just got a new puppy and was gone half the week going up to visit my folks and pick him up. The other excuse is much less excusable in that I just found writing this particular chapter to be a lot more draining than usual. I think it’s just so jampacked full of emotions. Which is my poor planning in action, but I really hope you all enjoy it from a reader’s perspective! In any case, I hope it’s worth the late and if it’s not you have my thousand condolences. 
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @freshzombiewriter, @washingtonstub, @icefrozenover, @sugarfirervb, CABRALFAN27, @notatroll7, @ephemeraltea, Yin, @meirelle for the feedback!

Watching the literal calvary arrive brought an unsettling feeling over Tex and she suddenly found herself questioning everything. Not simply calling for the simulation troopers for reinforcement, but the _literal_ everything that had become her life right then. 

Mostly because of the polka music. 

“Greetun’s, Freelancer lady!” Sarge called, jumping over the the siding of the Warthog before the thing had even come to a complete stop and earning a gasp and sputtering from Simmons. 

“Turn that off!” she snapped at them.

“What? Don’t like music?” Grif snarked despite obeying all the same. 

“I don’t like giving our position away to the enemy, no,” Tex growled. “Did the fact that I coded my message out to you oafs not tip you off to the fact that, just maybe, things were rather dire out here?”

The Reds glanced toward each other then back to Tex. Donut even leaned against the gatling gun on the back of their ride as if it _wasn’t_ a lethal weapon he could have accidentally fired her in half with. 

“Umm… No?” Donut responded simply. 

Tex sighed and put a hand over her visor. There was almost _too_ many things wrong with having to rely on them for her to go through and pick on individually. But they were also, currently, serving as part of her only hope with getting to Church and putting an end to Wyoming.

Her gears ground together and Tex realized that, just perhaps, that was a robot body way of telling her she actually missed Wash’s company.

At least she could say he had confidently shot a target before.

She glanced between all the Reds again and realized something rather obvious was missing, though she counted the number of bodies before her all the same.

“Wait a damn minute,” she growled. “Where the hell’s Caboose and Tucker?”

“Pfft,” Grif remarked, shrugging from his seat. “Who cares?”

“Those Blusers needn’t concern us!” Sarge added boisterously, stepping closer to Tex as if it was some sign of solidarity she hadn’t subscribed to. “We here on Red Team utilize Red Team methodology, Red Team ideology, and – most importantly of all – Red Team _warology_ in order to truly achieve our goals!” He made a disgusted, gargling noise in his helmet. “Such things _Blue Dirtbags_ could never comprehend.”

Tex sighed and shook her helmet. 

She wasn’t entirely sure how she kept getting herself into these situations with simulation troopers. But she _was_ fairly sure they would be the death of someone. Not _her_  if she could help it. But someone. 

“Also they didn’t have a vehicle so they were following us on foot,” Simmons noted. 

“How lame,” Grif snickered. 

“I almost felt bad for them, so I left a trail of breadcrumbs!” Donut explained excitedly. “Which Caboose was _really_ excited about following. But it _was_ kind of expensive. In the apocolyptic future it’s amazing how much gas stations think they can get away with when it comes to charging for buttered croissants! _Diabolical!_ You can just _smell_ how much society has broken down.”

“No, that smell was the lard they used to make Grif’s dozen baker’s dozen of donuts,” Simmons argued. He then looked to Tex. “We had to throw them all out because of too many insinuations between Sarge and Donut about them.”

“And by throw them away we mean _Simmons_ was disgusted, and I just got to eat the whole box,” Grif added.

“If it was possible for a robot body to have a headache, you would have given me one,” Tex snapped. “Congratulations.”

“Speaking of robot heads!” Sarge called out. 

Donut clapped, earning a look of complete ire from Tex. “What a transition, Sarge! Four stars!”

“You mentioned that O’Malley and this Wyoming fella have a new base of operations in your very cleverly coded Red Team message,” Sarge pointed out to Tex proudly. 

Tex considered refuting the statement but then realized that, for her chosen sim troopers of note, modern English probably _was_ as good as a coded message. 

“However, you failed to give us an update on the true Red Team objective through this all,” he continued, fists balled up against his hips. “So tell us, Agent Tex, have you located me-amiga-as-stupendo?”

She waited a full beat before throwing up her hands. “ _What?”_ she demanded. 

“He’s asking about Lopez,” Simmons translated.

Throwing her head back, Tex began to just accept the moment before the true connotation caught up with her. She narrowed her gaze and looked curiously at Sarge. “He’s here, but how did you know he was only a head?”

“It just made too good of a transition,” Sarge replied with a chuckle.

There was another beat of silence before the former Freelancer glanced toward the rest of Red Team. 

“We scoped the area before coming over to you,” Donut clarified. 

“You didn’t trust me?” Tex asked.

“Fuck no, are you kidding?” Grif asked. 

Simmons withdrew a bit, as if prepared for a full flinch away from Tex’s impending wrath. “Uh, I mean. You understand, right? We weren’t, like, planning anything jut. Uh, don’t hurt us?”

“Are you kidding?” Tex scoffed. “Not trusting me might be the first remotely intelligent thing any of you people have done since I showed up at Blood Gulch.”

"Damn straight it is!” Sarge declared with another laugh.

Simmons looked honestly flustered. “Whoa whoa wait a minute! Are you saying you’re _not_ mad at us?” he asked, a little dazed. “I thought you only came in three modes: angry robot, angrier robot, and _angriest_ robot.”

“Oh ho ho, I do,” Tex laughed. “I’m absolutely furious that you’re _still_ managing to waste my time with this conversation as we speak. But I respect not trusting other people. It’s the most sensible thing I know. As a robot and as a ghost.”

“Oh, right,” Donut laughed. “Because we killed you.”

“Donut!” everyone shouted at once.

Tex, amused, crossed her arms and looked right at the lightish-red Red. “Yeah, _something_ like that,” she conceded. 

Just as the conversation was about to carry on with the Reds’ lead, the sound of panting drew their attentions to the very hill the warthog had just driven over. 

A blue helmet peaked over the hill first as Caboose came trotting toward them with a hum and no signs of slowing down. Mostly because there was also loud crunching coming from his helmet and his arms were full of what looked like breadcrumbs. 

He came to a stop just beside Tex, ignoring the panting that was still coming from over the ridge. 

“Hello, everybody!” Caboose called out excitedly between crunches of bread crumbs. “We are all standing on the beach today. This seems like a very good place to be standing. Good job!”

“Damn,” Sarge huffed. “Guess at least one of the Blues survived the trek after all.”

The panting was replaced by wheezing as Tucker followed and appeared over the hill, stopping short and putting his hands on his knees to keep breathing and choking on gulps of air. 

"Looks like two of them made it actually,” Sarge corrected himself before snapping his fingers in disappointment. “Double damn.”

“Fuck you guys!” Tucker growled between wheezes. “You left us back there to die!”

Grif snorted again and crossed his arms. “Uh, _yeah?_ Welcome to war, asshole.”

“Okay, I’ve had about enough,” Tex informed all of them. “I called you all here because, like I said, our enemies are holed up in a centralized location with things that all of us want.”

“Aw, _man!”_ Donut groaned. “I hate when they have our _things._ Bad guys that take _things_ are, like, the _worst_ kind of bad guys.”

“I have a plan for infiltration,” Tex continued. “Once we separate into teams and commence infiltration, we’ll be able to take back what’s ours – or at least, whatever we deem as ours after we loot the shit out of these bastards – and also plant _this.”_

She drew all of their attention to the spherical device she constructed behind her. It elicited a few _ews and ahs._

“Wait,” Tucker said, finally straightening up. “What the fuck is it?”

“What do you mean _what is it?_ It’s a _bomb,”_ Tex snapped. “Obviously.”

“What the hell,” Grif marveled. “Hey! No way. That can’t be a bomb. It looks like a bowling ball.”

“It _is_ giving me the unusual desire to watch some _Flintstones_ ,” Sarge said. “And I don’t mean the original original, but the _very_ original one. The one that was a remake of the remake but first to transcend a new form of media.”

“Wait, you mean the live action movie?” Simmons asked critically. “With John Goodman?”

"Absolutely!” Sarge chuckled. “Looked like the sets were made for a McDonald’s toyline!”

"Ugh, _no way,”_ Grif dissented. “That movie sucked.”

“You suck!” Sarge growled back.

“Aw, guys,” Caboose said, bending down beside the bomb and patting it gently. “Don’t call the bomb names. It may hurt his feelings.”

“Feelings? Dude, Caboose, what planet are you _on?”_ Tucker groaned. “It’s a _bomb._ It doesn’t have feelings. It just goes _kabloom._ Explodes. Game over. It’s not like it has a name and can talk.”

Caboose tilted his head back toward Tucker. “But Church exploded all the time and _he_ had a name and talked.”

“Well, shit, got me there,” Tucker said flatly. 

Tex frowned and turned more directly to Tucker. She crossed her arms and lowly, so as to not get the arguing Reds’ attentions, she said, “Tucker, about Church…”

Instantly interested, Tucker perked up. “You found him?”

“That’s what _we’re_ interested in in there,” she informed him with a jerk of her thumb toward the compound. “They have Church. And I want you, me, and Caboose to take point in sneaking inside while the Reds run interference and go for their stupid robot.” 

Tucker shifted uneasily. “What’re they doing to him?” he asked.

“Nothing good,” Tex growled back. “But I can’t know for sure until we get in there.”

“Well, _fuck,”_ Tucker growled, rubbing at his helmet. “What the fuck else could _possibly_ go wrong?”

Tex tilted her head for a moment before seeing a blip across her motion trackers. She stiffened and looked toward the distance, holding up a hand that silenced everyone around her. 

“Hold that thought, Tucker,” Tex ordered. “We’ve got incoming.”

* * *

If he wasn’t majorly bleeding, Agent Washington would have sincerely considered killing Tex for the stupidity of having an openly broadcasted signal to her location. 

As it were, it made her and the simulation troopers _ridiculously_ easy to get to. 

The jeep he had taken was in decent enough shape if he ignored the blood stains, which was a touch difficult to do considering that he had barely bothered to field dress himself on his journey. 

Only an hour into his trek he had caught wind of Tex’s broadcast and changed directions for it. And he had been fuming mad ever since. 

Agent Texas was supposed to be the best of all of them. And she was pulling this kind of rookie shit? 

His vision was swimming as he pulled the jeep to a stop a few feet away from the signal’s location and held up his hands, already seeing the weapons turned on him. 

Caboose was the first to drop – literally – his weapon and throw up his arms, sending what looked like food flying everywhere. “Agent Washington!” he cried out excitedly. “It is so very good to see you!”

“Wash?” Tucker asked, following suit and lowering his gun.

“Oh, _great,”_ Donut huffed from where the Reds were when they all dropped their weapons’ sites as well. 

“You’re broadcasting an open channel signal!” Wash growled at Tex, grabbing the side of the jeep as he tried to step out only to collapse the moment weight was put on his leg. “W-what the hell’s _wrong_ with you?”

“Oh no! Agent Washington’s hurt!” Caboose yelled, running to the Freelancer’s side. “And it’s Red blood. Agent Washington, I am disappointed in you.”

“Wash! What the fuck!?” Tucker cried out, joining Caboose by Wash’s side as they gently laid him back against the jeep. 

Wash tried to string his thoughts together more coherently – there was a _lot_ adding to how pissed off he felt at the moment – but he finally managed it when Tex dropped into his sights. 

She kneeled in front of him and checked him over – probably with a bioscan given the jerkish way she moved her helmet. 

“Tex,” he said thickly.

“You’re pissed about the open channel, I get it,” she said. “Calm down and don’t cause an artery to blow or something. It looks like it’s a vein you’ve got the most damage on. Or, y’know, you would’ve bled out a few clicks ago.”

He gritted his teeth and pulled against Tucker and Caboose’s guidance to get more in Tex’s face. “No,” he said firmly. “Listen to me.”

For a moment, Tex seemed ready to contest him, but instead she settled on her haunches and looked right back into his face. 

“Command turned on me for some reason,” he informed her. “I got a few ideas as to why, but worst case scenario… _they know._ They know that _I_ know. And that might lead them right back to you.”

Tex stared at him before her fists clenched. “That’s a heavy accusation to throw around, Wash.”

“Yeah, well, it’s earned,” he replied. Then he glanced around. “I… don’t… Why are we _here?”_

With a grunt, Tex pushed back onto her feet. “Church is here. We’re going to get him.” She then glanced back toward the Reds. “ _And_ the Reds’ robot. For some reason.”

“Because you never leave a good Red behind!” Sarge yelled.

“Yeah, and apparently a good Red turns on you, joins the enemy, and tries to kill their creators,” Grif grumbled. 

“Just as I always hoped he would,” Sarge sighed almost dreamily. 

Not even feeling the desire to dignify Sarge’s nonsense, Washington turned his attention instead fully back to Tex. “Wyoming’s with them?” he tried to confirm.

"Considering my last run in with them? Yeah, I’d say so,” Tex answered with a huff. “Extra reason to blow the fuckers to the skies.”

“Good, then I’m coming too–” Wash began to say, pushing from the ground only to feel his muscles knot up and tremble under his weight before ultimately giving and causing him to collapse to the grounds. 

He couldn’t help but be a little surprised when rather than getting a visor full of dirt for his troubles, he felt Caboose and Tucker grab his arms and hoist him back into a sitting position. 

“Not that I’d have to explain this to a sane person,” Tucker grunted in Wash’s ear as he did most of the maneuvering to get Wash sitting back upright, “but you’re not going anywhere, dude. Look how much blood you’ve lost, holy shit. How are you _awake?”_

“Force of will,” Wash gritted out. “Same willpower I’ll use to help take on Wyoming–”

Tex’s head rolled back and she put a hand on her hip. “Okay, no, fuck that. Someone’s on Wash sitting duty until we’re done murdering and exacting revenge on our enemies – Donut. You’re on Wash duty.”

“No,” Wash and Donut said harmoniously before looking in confusion at each other. 

Wash figured that it was at least one thing they seemed to agree on.

For a moment Tex looked back and forth between them before straightening up, allowing her shadow to fall over Wash and grabbing his attention completely. “I’m sorry, are you _arguing_ with me right now?” she asked thinly, though Wash couldn’t tell just who she was directing the question towards.

“No,” Donut and Wash said together once more.

"Right, that’s what I thought,” Tex said firmly before turning back toward the rest of the Reds and Blues. “Okay, Sarge you’re leading the A-team.”

“Damn straight I am!” he chuckled.

“So you, Grif, and Simmons will go around the beach front and get the attention of their watch,” Tex explained. “It’ll be dangerous, but it’ll get you Lopez.”

“How will that get us Lopez?” Grif demanded.

“Because he _is_ the watch,” Tex answered.

“Goddammit, stupid fucking robot,” Grif groaned, putting his head in his hands.

“I’m in charge of B-team,” Tex continued. “We’ll sneak in the west side and plant the bomb as well as grab Church during the distraction. So that’s me, Tucker, and Caboose.”

“What? Why the fuck are we _B_ team?” Tucker snapped.

“B for _Blue_ , Tucker. _Duh,”_ Caboose snorted. “It’s like you didn’t ever play with your A B C’s before.”

Tex paused before breaking with the teams and looked at Wash intently. “Try to keep alive a bit longer. I know that’s your specialty and all as a cockroach but the blood loss isn’t looking so great on you.”

“How can you tell? I’m in armor,” Wash pointed out weakly.

Ignoring him, Tex waved to her simulation troops. “Alright, let’s go.”

Wash watched the two teams break away and then watched as Donut angrily dropped into a sitting position against the jeep just a few feet away from him. He sighed and realized what a truly long day it was about to be for him. 

* * *

While a part of her detected the curious tension between Wash and Donut, Tex didn’t exactly have time to spend getting to the bottom of it. Not when there was Church at risk and whatever feeble alliance between the simulation troopers and herself still founded on grounds she wasn’t even sure of. 

Leading her team away from the jeep and the ever growing Washington Crisis, Tex stood over the bomb she had constructed from the spare parts she’d gathered at her last encounter and rounded on Caboose and Tucker.

“Okay, I’m going to need the two of you here to grab this bomb and follow me into the compound. I was able to stake it out with my active camouflage and find the best place for us to leave it after we grab Church and run,” she announced. 

“Okay!” Caboose called out cheerfully enough. “I really like the part where we grab Church. It’s my favorite part. Church’ll be _so_ happy to see me again!” He looked to Tucker. “We’re best friends like that.”

“Fucking hell,” Tucker groaned before cocking his head to the side and looking at Tex. “Wait. If you infiltrated this place before, found all this shit out, _and_ have active camouflage, why do the Reds have to draw away artillery fire and we have to go sneaking up the back? Why didn’t you just go ahead and save the day like a badass or whatever it is you do?”

Tex stared coldly at Tucker, but neither he nor Caboose retracted their gazes. 

With a long sigh, Tex looked up to the sky. “The parts I used for the bomb are heavy, alright? There’s no way I was going to sneak in there with it without making a huge ruckus and attracting attention.”

“What a bitch move,” Tucker snorted. “Have us do the heavy lifting.”

“Hey, work _smarter_ not _harder,”_ Tex snapped.

“What’s _smarter_ about making a bomb you can’t carry by yourself?” Tucker demanded. “What’re you going to tell us next? That Caboose is right and the bomb can talk?”

"Oh!” Caboose called out excitedly, head bobbing to Tex’s direction.

“God no,” Tex replied dryly.

“Aw,” Caboose deflated.

“But it _can_ explode and kill all our enemies at once, if you two stop fucking around and pick it up already,” Tex said, reaching for the gatling gun she left nearby. 

Caboose jogged up beside her and threw his gun haphazardly over his shoulder and onto his back. “No worries, Tex! I can carry it all by myself! No stupid Tucker needed to do the awesome thing!” Caboose declared, squatting down to grab the bomb.

Tex hesitated and looked back at him. “I can pretty much guarantee that you’re going to _both_ need carry that thing. It’s ridiculously heavy,” she warned them.

Somewhat unsurprisingly, Tucker made no moves to assist his teammate and instead waved them off entirely. “Nah, Caboose’s got this. He’s like _ridiculously_ strong. Church and I think it’s God’s way of compensating.”

She gave Tucker a warning look just before Caboose did the seemingly impossible and lifted the bomb in his hands with little more than a grunt. Tex even flinched back in shock at the image. 

“Holy shit,” she said.

“I carried… lots of sisters… on the farm…” Caboose heaved between gritting teeth. 

Tucker crossed his arms, unimpressed. “I thought you said you were from the moon, Caboose.”

“Moon… has farms…” Caboose tried his best to rebuttal. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Tucker waved him off. HIs attention shifted to Tex and he walked toward her, shoulders strangely stiff. “Hey, uh, Tex, I need to ask you something. You mentioned that we’re blowing up the base and, like, getting rid of _everyone_ there, right?”

Without much of a hesitation on her end, Tex turned toward the base and began leading the way. “Is this something that’s going to get stupidly sentimental partway through? Because we’re on a time table and I’m not going to waste much more on stupid hypotheticals, Tucker.”

“Why are my hypotheticals automatically stupid?” he whined as they followed.

“Because every one I’ve gotten from you so far has somehow worked a threesome into it,” Tex reminded him dryly.

“Well, yeah, because you never give me a straight answer,” Tucker huffed. Then, without missing a beat, “Not that it’d be very straight for you – _Bow chicka bow wow–”_

As if on reflex, Tex stopped walking and left her foot out, leading to the aqua colored space marine to go tripping over her boot and wailing as he fell forward and rolled headfirst into a ditch. 

It wasn’t stealthy. But Tex would argue for its necessity even in a court of law if need be.

What she couldn’t have defended or even expected was just how long of a yell and drop that Tucker had in store for them all before the resounding crash of him hitting the bottom. 

“Bum chick bum  _ow,”_ Caboose said as he and Tex stood by the edge and looked over. 

“Caboose, _no!”_ Tucker’s voice echoed. Then, almost immediately after, “Tex! What the actual hell?”

“Are you dead or dying?” Tex asked down to him.

“No.”

“Okay, we’re moving on then, try to crawl out before we detonate the bomb and everything, alright?” Tex said, beginning to walk away. “Come on, Caboose–”

“Tex! Wait! About the bomb!” Tucker yelled, drawing her back to the edge of the crevice with a long sigh. “Maybe we shouldn’t kill _everyone_ just yet, alright? Hear me out!” 

“This already sounds like a terrible plan,” Tex replied with a shake of her head. 

“But Wash is really hurt, right?” Tucker pointed out. “And we all might hate his guts, but Doc’s like the only medical professional we’ve seen in, like, _years_ of this bullshit. So maybe we should try to, y’know, save him and junk!” 

Tex soaked in the suggestion for a moment before nodding her head. “Wow, Tucker. I had _no_ idea I could hate any plan as much as I hated this one. _Thank you_ for showing me what absolute disgust towards an idea could feel like.”

“But–”

“But _nothing,_ asshole!” Tex snapped. “You want me to spare the _one_ guy housing the malicious AI that’s been in my brain for years and is trying to kill us all right now? Yeah. Fuck that. No thanks. We’ll find another way to take care of Wash.”

She backed away from the hole and looked to Caboose. “Alright, Caboose. Let’s save Church.”

“Yes. I have been preparing for this all my life!” Caboose preened.

* * *

His head was still pounding and his eyes refused to remain open no matter what Wash tried. As he leaned his head back against the jeep, he took the time to really observe the blood that stained the seats and floorboards before deciding that just _maybe_ Tex had had a point about leaving him behind that time.

That, however, meant nothing toward the decision to leave him with one incredibly disgruntled looking Donut.

Almost in aggravation, Donut was scrubbing at the tiniest speck of blood that had gotten on his armor from helping to field dress Wash where armor and biofoam failed. 

“Ugh,” the Red groaned, finally throwing away the rag in his hand. “Do you have _any_ idea how difficult it is to scrub blood red out of this lightish red armor? It is _horrible.”_

“My sympathies are stretched a little thin at the moment,” Wash croaked back.

Donut turned and stared at Washington for a good long moment, enough so that no distance or number of helmets between them could really disguise the scowl of disgust Donut was wearing. 

Growing tired of the tension, Wash slid his eyes closed, expecting to slip out of consciousness again and be woken up by the rest of the sim troopers and Tex’s arrival, only to feel a noticeable shift closer to him. He opened one eye and looked suspiciously at Donut. 

“Why did you do it?” Donut demanded. “I mean. _Right_ in front of me, too. It’s like… It’s like you didn’t care what color armor I’m wearing when you take out these other guys.”

“Really,” Wash said flatly. “ _Really_ you want to have this conversation right now while I’m bleeding out?”

“Well, we can’t have it when you’re _done_ bleeding out, Mister Perpetually Dying,” Donut scoffed. “Plus, I think you’ll be fine. You seem like a tough guy to kill.”

"From one hard man to kill to another, I take that as a high compliment,” Wash attempted to joke. 

Donut’s hand shifted not so subtly toward his belt loop but he didn’t pull out his sidearm. Which was a plus, all things considering the last few encounters between them.

Earning a sigh, Wash achingly shifted and looked straight into Donut’s face. “I don’t see the color of your armors. A war between people who like Red or who like Blue for their identically supplied military units? A touch ridiculous. You’re just… _troopers_ , to me. And other than when _you_ guys shot at me for supposedly being a Blue back in the canyon, I haven’t thought of any of you as the enemy. You’ve been on my side. I’m just interested in getting back at Wyoming and any of the guys working with him right now.”

“Like the other Red?” Donut asked, still scathing in skepticism.

“The one who shot me in the back previously? _Yeah,”_ Wash said, leaning back against the jeep. “Yeah.”

For a moment, Donut seemed to quietly reflect before falling back against the jeep, too. Wash watched quietly as the simulation trooper started nodding as well. 

“Yeah, okay,” Donut said, glancing back. “Killing to protect people and stuff. That’s just war. But if your war’s not with _Red_ and it’s not with _Blue_ , then I guess I can’t continue to have a problem with you.”

“That’s touching,” Wash snorted. 

“But just so you know, if you have a war against _one_ person, it’s kinda just a vendetta,” Donut said lowly. “And I’ve got an issue with that. Because I think people are a lot more likely to turn on ya and shoot you in the back if they’re fighting against _someone_ and not just trying to fight for some _thing_ , y’know?”

Wash was quiet for a moment before glaring back at Donut. “No. I have no idea what you’re on about.”

“Eh,” Donut shrugged. “Just think about it.”

Taking a breath, Wash let his eyes slide closed again, and despite himself he _did_ think about it. 

* * *

Tex had not realized that there could _be_ an oversight from not bringing Tucker along with her and Caboose, but she discovered it fairly soon after they reached inside of the base. Namely that it was difficult thinking while also attempting to maintain some level of patience with Caboose’s ever fleeting understanding of the gravity of the situation. 

“And Church’ll be _so_ happy that Tucker’s not with us, too. See, Tucker’s the bad friend. Yeah, you don’t know this but I don’t like Tucker very much. He’s very loud and rude. Which isn’t like Church at all! Church is my best friend because he’s very loud _and_ rude. Just just loud and rude. Plus I shared bunkbeds with Tucker. Did you know that? Tucker always calls the top bunk. That’s in the rude category. He does something else with the bunkbeds that’s in the _loud_ category. Hey, Agent Tex-as! Do you know what the loud thing is? Church hasn’t told me yet. I asked Tucker but I think he was lying. I’ve never seen any chickens in our room. Actually, I’ve never seen any birds at all in our room–”

If she had had the capacity for it, Tex was fairly certain her eyes would have rolled back into her head and her face begun to melt off for the truly unreasonable plans she had for getting Caboose to shut up.

Fortunately for her, the most realistic way to get him to shut up that _didn’t_ involve shooting him with the gatling gun over her shoulder, appeared right before them.

“Caboose!” Tex hissed, pointing toward the engine block nearby. “Look, we’re here! You don’t need to carry the bomb _or_ a conversation anymore.”

“Oh!” Caboose said, hurrying up to her side and then staring at the blaring engines. “Huh. I do _not_ know what I am looking at, Tex.”

She ground back on her words for a moment before pointing more directly at the taped off ‘X’ on the ground right between the largest of the engines. “Caboose, this is the engine room. We’re going to put the bomb there and then detonate it remotely after we save Church. It’s the _plan._ Remember?”

Caboose took a breath, humming slightly before glancing back at Tex. “No,” he answered honestly.

She stared at him for a moment, foot tapping, before she accented her pointing finger again and ordered, “Caboose, put the damn bomb on the X.”

“Got it!” he called out excitedly before carrying the bomb over without any delicacy and then, slowly, lowering it onto its spot. 

The Blue then stood back up, spun around on his heels, and saluted Tex as if he had accomplished something awards worthy. Had it been anyone _but_ Caboose, Tex would have assumed sarcasm and taken a shot for his shiny helmet. 

However, it was _certainly_ Caboose just being Caboose without even the slightest doubt. 

She waved him back over and Caboose followed without question as they continued their sneaking toward more of the front of the power plant that O’Malley and Wyoming had fashioned into their base of operations. He was bouncing with every step as they neared their desired point of rescue for Church. 

And Tex began to feel the anxiety building within her code.

The sounds of gunfire and shouting from the front of the building did seem to mean that the Reds had done a fairly decent job of distracting their enemies as needed. 

When they reached the main office, Tex wasted no time in kicking the door down. Her processors fired off immediately, scanning the area and looking for any sign of where she could get Church from. 

But the moment she locked onto the strange device that had been on Wyoming’s back before, something in Tex froze. 

It was different than it had been when she saw it on Wyoming. 

Not physically perhaps, but as she stared at the device on its table, upright, with wires and cables feeding into and out of it, pulsing with an alien light, something in Tex seemed to almost _reset._ Something felt wrong and cold and _familiar_ like a sickening, haunted dream.

It was like _deja vu_ with a bad taste.

“Church!” Caboose shouted behind Tex, rocking her to her core but also sending her spiraling back to the present. 

She glanced toward where Caboose brushed past her to run to and saw for herself the dinged up old cobalt armor for Church’s robot body. It had never really occurred to her how ridiculous and pointy the old armors looked until she and Caboose stood beside the old set. 

“Huh,” Caboose said, poking at the helmet. “Not enough polygons…”

“Caboose,” Tex said, stepping beside him. “If I go somewhere for a second, do you think you could protect Church and me? Make sure no one does anything to our bodies?”

Caboose flinched away from her, head spinning back to look at her a bit worriedly. “I… dunno…”

Tex realized what the request had sounded like and nearly kicked herself mentally. “No, no. Caboose, I don’t mean like that. We’re not going to… Your head is safe, okay? That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Alright,” Caboose breathed easily. “Yeah, uh, I don’t like the jumpy thingie you guys do. It’s kinda scary.”

“Hopefully we’ll be stopping anyone from doing it again _really_ soon,” Tex promised before turning toward the device on the table. She could feel her body locking up just staring at it. “Okay,” she muttered. “Okay. Caboose, you got this?”

“Sure! What’s _this?”_ he asked.

It was too late to take back, though, and Tex turned off her optical sensors, concentrated, and with a complete leap of faith once more–

The jump was much faster that time. It was almost as if her entire form was pulled toward the device.

No, it _wasn’t_ the device though. Not really. It was what was in the device and–

When Tex opened her eyes, she saw a cold hallway. She could _feel_ it like it was a cold hallway. Could hear the echoes of creaks and groans of the metal structure around her. 

It was a long hallway without doors, without exits. Without a beginning or an end. And it was _real_ to her and she knew, deep down, that it was real for _him_  too. And that just about broke her then and there.

“Not this,” she muttered, moving forward through the halls. “Not _again.”_

She moved gracelessly forward. Picking up her own feet – her _code_ – was somehow a different sensation then any time she directed her physical form. Moving _herself,_ her true self, was almost surreal. Even compared to what fuckery they had gotten involved with in Caboose’s head. 

As she reached forward, the hall did not change but slowly, subtly, she saw a white glow from the horizon. 

“Church,” she said breathlessly before running forward almost effortlessly compared to before. “Church!” 

He didn’t move, even as Tex was close enough to touch him. Even when she _did_ touch him, grabbing his shoulders and spinning him toward her. 

For reasons beyond Tex, he was in armor – armor unfamiliar to her, but armor all the same. But it wasn’t Blue or Red, it was white. And it _pained_ Tex to see him like that, to see him the way he had looked the last time Tex had entered his space of mind. 

Because the look Church gave her was _not_ one of recognition. 

“I don’t have time for this,” he told her. “Actually, all I’ve got _is_ time. Fuck this infinite loop nonsense! How do I keep fucking this up? How am I supposed to make everything right?”

“Hey,” she said lowly. “None of that is making any sense to me, okay? Try explaining your nonsense from the top. I’ll help.”

The other AI looked at her, somewhat mystified. It was almost like he had only just realized he was talking to someone else and not simply himself. 

“Oh,” he said, almost instantly calmed down. “You’re… gonna help me? No one helps me with these. I don’t know if I’m allowed to have help–”

“Shut up and take it,” Tex replied almost automatically. “That’s what I’m here for. I’m _here_ to help, okay? So lay it on me.”

“You’re here… to _help_ me?” Church asked, head tilting. “Sounds fake but…” He paused again, seeming to reconsider saying anything to Tex at all. It was enough to start to annoy her before Church took a breath and turned to face one of the hallway walls. 

In the blink of an eye twenty screens surrounded them, each with individual running clocks overtop. 

Tex was distracted by the numbers at first, shocked at how little time was on each of them, then shocked by just how _slow_ each second seemed to pass for them, then she took a better look at the actual screens. Her eyes bulged slightly as she realized that each one carried a familiar scene. 

From Blood Gulch. From Sidewinder. From–

“ _The Mother of Invention?”_ she asked critically, stepping toward the screen and seeing herself and Church facing off in the hallway, just as they had before. Just as they were now. 

Church looked at all the screens, lost and fretting. “I have to save them all. I’m running out of time – I’m making it worse. I have to stop me from dying. I have to stop Tex from dying. I have to stop Doc from coming to the canyon. I have to keep the Reds away. I have to get rid of Washington. I have to–”

“Why?” Tex demanded. “Why do you have to do any of this?” She walked toward him. “It’s already done, Church–”

“Don’t _say_ that!” he snapped. “I’m already in the past. I just have… I have to… _Dammit!_ I just killed Captain Flowers! Oh my god! How did _medicine_ kill someone!?”

Tex stared at Church in completely perplexed. “Flowers?” she repeated “What are you–” It then hit her, the memory of her first weeks at Blood Gulch and the senior officer she found among the Blues. “Florida? But you didn’t…” 

She didn’t know that. Not for sure, and she couldn’t quite figure out the right words for it. How to console him over something she never thought to attribute guilt to before.

Church grabbed at his helmet, his teeth audibly grinding against each other. “No no no! I’m the one that set Sheila wrong! If I hadn’t fucked around with her she wouldn’t have been on friendly fire! Caboose isn’t at fault it was me–”

“Have you met Caboose?” Tex asked seriously. “He’d manage to shoot his own foot off if you let him.”

“ _Fuck!”_ Church said, looking up to the screens in question, their clocks reaching zero and a large, red, blaring strike going through the pictures. “No no no! Wait now I have to stop myself from going after the Reds– _Fuck!”_

She watched another strike and Tex felt her own head beginning to spin. The clocks were speeding up even more. More and more screens were being marked off. 

“How can I have an infinite time loop and still be fucking up this badly!?” Church cried out.

“Church, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about! Talk through this with me so I can _help_ you or this is all going to crash,” she warned, beginning to see the zeroes and ones in the various corners of the hall beginning to break from the seamless images around them. 

Taking her own advice, Tex took a breath and thought carefully over Church’s words. She then turned on him wide eyed. “Wait, Church! Church, talk to me – what do you mean you’re on an infinite loop? How many recursions is this? How many times have you tried to save everyone?”

“Why does it matter if I keep losing!?” Church cried out hysterically.

“It matters a fucking _lot,_ so talk to me!” Tex demanded. More screens ended before their eyes and Church let out a cry as he grabbed at his helmet and doubled over. Tex felt that anxiety from before overwhelm her processors. “Church! How many times!? Talk to me!”

The hallway between them burst into code, the floor giving way and their own forms left adrift in the senseless numbers. 

Tex watched Church remain unobservant to the world literally falling apart between them, still grabbing at his helmet as if trying to pry it off, not realizing that in here it was as good as his own head. 

"I’m sorry! I tried! Just let me do it again–” 

Tex stared at him, watching as the edges of Church’s form began to break at the ends, code scrambling into numbers and letters and nonsense, fading into the obscurity that surrounded them.

She physically _ached_ watching him tear apart at the seams. She could hardly stand it. 

“Hey! Stop it!” she yelled out angrily, not sure if it was at Church or at the damn masochists behind it all. “Stop this, alright!? I _told_ you I’m here now, didn’t I? I’m here, you don’t get to tear apart anymore, you understand?”

For a moment Church’s quivering hold of his helmet lessened and his head tilted up just enough to look at her – _really_ look at her like he hadn’t before in the fake hallway. 

Not sure what it would do, Tex reached out for him, determined and fierce. “I’m here to help, remember? That’s why I’ve always been here, right?”

He looked at her, hands slowly dropping from the sides of his head. “Is it?”

“Yeah,” she nodded before thinking better of it. Then she added, “I think so.”

“Shit, don’t be too confident about it,” he replied with a laugh that sounded like it hurt. He curled more inward, his outline fuzzy with breaking code. “Wh-where’ve you been?”

“Doing my other job,” she answered vaguely, reaching for him and grabbing his shoulders forcefully. “My many other jobs. I’m… I’m not sorry that I was gone. I’m sorry that you needed me and I wasn’t here, though. That I couldn’t be here.” She hesitated before continuing. “I’m here now, though.”

“Beta,” he said, almost reverently, his breaking slowing to almost a crawl. 

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Yeah, Alpha. It’s me–”

The words hadn’t even left her mouth when, at the mention of Alpha, Church’s head threw itself back and he contorted, a fissure erupting from his center. There was a hideous noise, something Tex swore she could have only heard in nightmares before then, that erupted from him and then– 

Church’s code broke, bursting in front of her, a yellow gleaming light blinding her as it did so. 

“CHURCH!” she screamed out uselessly, tumbling through the nonsense binary surrounding her, through the Alpha’s codex. 

The tear in the code was so immense that Tex could feel herself beginning to fall apart, could all but sense the cracking through her own core. But she refused it – she dug her heels into the ground and pushed past the urge to go in two different directions at once. 

She was firm, she was indestructible, and if she thought it enough times she was almost certain it would be true. 

And soon enough she found herself remaining and intact among the finally calming code around her. 

Her eyes opened and while the setting had not formed, what she _did_ see before her looked enough like Church – Church in his Blood Gulch armor and a sniper rifle even – but it wasn’t him. 

He was _yellow._

Tex tilted her head, unsure, and glared at him. “Who the fuck are _you?”_ she demanded. 

Apathetically, the AI shrugged back before giving up halfway through his own shrug. As if he couldn’t even be bothered by the motion. He yawned and turned away from her. “Hell if I know,” he answered.

“What do you mean? You’re not Church so who the fuck are you?” she growled, getting up closer to the AI.

“Aren’t I?” he asked lazily. “I mean… maybe I’m not. Fuck if I know. I just feel… kinda… Not like I care. Like about anything.”

For a moment she thought about socking the AI as hard as she could, for experimentation’s sake at least, but then it struck her. She tilted her head back and looked hauntingly over the AI. “His… apathy?” she asked.

“ _Apathetic,”_ the yellow Church repeated. “ _That’s_ the word. See. I would’ve thought about it, but I just didn’t give that much of a damn. Weird.”

He split. Tex was there and he split anyway, and that failure struck Tex worse than any code trying to tear her from head to navel. 

“No, _goddammit no!”_ Tex roared, looking around as the code began to align again. She felt a spark of something within her – Church was pulling himself back together, one more time. He wasn’t broken beyond repair just yet. 

Whipping back around, Tex pointed at the assembling code. “Get back in there! He _needs_ you! You’re a part of him, don’t you fucking get that? You can’t just leave him!” 

The yellow Church looked to the code then back before shrugging. “Sure about that?” 

“Yes! Goddammit, _yes!”_ Tex snarled. “Do it before I kick your ass!”

“I don’t know if you actually _can?_ But even if you can… eh,” he sighed, looking off.

Growling, Tex flung herself forward, fist back. “You piece of shit–”

At once, it was like an alarm went off – like attacking the fragment had sparked a defense that Tex couldn’t have possibly predicted. She barely blinked before the excruciating feeling of a kick to her chest happened and, suddenly, she was outside. 

Suddenly, she was back in her body. 

“Church!” she screamed out, looking straight at the device.

“He’s present!”

The voice was so unexpected, so out of place in the environment she had just been in, Tex nearly had to do a double take to see that it was Caboose beside her, still holding onto the lifeless armor that belonged to Church. 

Tex stared at them for a moment then looked back to the AI capture unit. A seething hatred for the device overcame her and she raced over to it, seeing that it was connected to a computer which seemed to have run a program of some sort – and now read _COMPLETE_ across it. 

They had _harvested_ from Church. 

Tex stared at the machinery, not breaking eye contact as she approached and grabbed the capture unit. “Caboose. Still got your gun?”

“Right here!” he chirped. 

“Do me a favor,” she growled, jaw clenching. “Help out this computer while I work with Church.” Finally, she ripped the cords and tubes from the capture unit and turned toward the lifeless shell while Caboose ran by her.

“Oh! Oh! Okay!” he yelled cheerfully. 

As Tex neared the armor, fingers clutching the device in her hands shakily, there was a loud explosion and a firing of a gun behind her. She didn’t even have to look as Caboose gave his “uh oh” and “Tucker did it” mantra. 

She stared at Church intently, wondering if her voice was even capable of putting her apology for failing to stop his shattering once again. But she decided to allow her actions to speak louder than words and instead turned Church’s armor over and looked for the area where Wyoming had attached it to his own armor. 

Finding it, Tex attached the device and slowly sat Church back up. 

“Come on,” she gritted out to him. “Church, wake up. You have to.”

After a beat, Church did not sit up on his own and began bantering away. But his armor did begin to light up and activate. She could even detect that there was a slowly booting up system within the helmet. He – or at least what Church was _now_ – was in there and taking over the body. 

Just not fast enough to Tex’s liking. 

She listened for the gunfire outside still going on then got to her feet. “Caboose,” she said, watching as the Blue came right up to her side. “You’re carrying Church out of here pronto.”

“That’s usually Tucker’s job…” Caboose trailed off. “Church always promised piggyback rides back but he never did it–”

"Tucker’s not here, Caboose, so it’s now _you’re_ job,” Tex informed him.

Caboose sniffed and raised his chin in the air. “Well. If I didn’t think better I’d think you just liked me to carry things for you, Tex.”

Tex tilted her head. “What makes you think I like you?”

Caboose snorted and waved his hand. “Oh, Tex. You know.”

“I know one thing, Caboose,” she said firmly. “You’re going to pick Church up and help carry him out of here. And then we’re blowing this hellhole skyhigh before the Reds gets obliterated. And that will be the end of that.”

“Nah, not the end just yet.”

Equally surprised, Tex and Caboose turned toward the entrance and saw together as Tucker stood there. Except it was more than _just_ Tucker. 

In his right hand was a bright, shining blade, sizzling hot and crackling with energy. Even with his helmet on, Tucker seemed to be wearing an expression of sure cockiness. 

“We’re not blowing up anyone yet. And everyone’s going to listen to me because everyone listens to the guy with the biggest sword!” Tucker paused and then added, “Bow chicka bow wow.”

“What the hell? Where did you _get_ that!?” Tex demanded. 

“Probably the internet,” Caboose murmured.

“It’s amazing how good I am at finding the right spot in a dark hole,” Tucker answered. Then, “ _Bow chicka bow wow–”_

Tex took a step toward him, eliciting a scream. “Shut up or I’ll strangle you,” she warned. “And for the record, no sword size would _ever_ make me reconsider a decision. On _anyone._ But especially you.”

“How about the fact that Wyoming and your AI buddy’ve already split?” Tucker asked.

Gears grinding to a halt, Tex turned on him again. “What? _What_ did you just say?”

“They left, Tex,” he shrugged. “The Reds are literally shooting at the giant spinning blade thingie out of boredom.”

“Oh, no,” Tex snarled. “Oh, _no_ they don’t. I am not letting them get away with what they’ve done – Tucker, you’re in charge of  Blue Team until Church wakes up. Then you’re _really_ in charge of Blue Team when he does!”

She raced toward the door, shoving past him. 

“Wait!” Tucker called out. “What’re you doing? We just all got back together–”

“I’m not letting them get away with this!” she repeated angrily as she ran out. 


	44. Recovery Two XIII: Harder Paths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! First update while back in classes for the semester. Though it’s probably cheating considering it’s the first week of classes and what not. Probably the most free time I’ll have this semester. Still, I apologize for the inconvenience of the update schedule being in perpetual flux. I hope the wait will be worth it!
> 
> Special thanks to @washingtonstub, @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @freshzombiewriter, @notatroll7, Bluebird202, @ephemeraltea, Lardo137, Yin, ms-aqua-marvel, @meteoratdusk, and CABRALFAN27 for the feedback!

Back when her hair was buzzed and the plating of her armor left something to be desired even in spite of the knowledge that their enemies were literal monsters determined to wipe out the human race, South had looked straight ahead at two men behind a desk and answered a single question at the end of their long overview of her decorated career. 

“Do you want to ensure humanity’s survival?” she had been asked. 

“Of course,” South had answered back, long before _South_ was a word that really held any meaning for her. 

“We look to see you set yourself further apart from the soldiers in your ranks. If you are still willing to join us, if you are prepared to fight this war for our survival taken to the very next level, then we hope to shake your hand on it.”

South had been charmed by that. _Set herself apart_ was as good as a motto to live by as any she had heard.

Before they offered their hands, she was reaching over the table to grab them and walking out of the office with her chin as high as it had been since she entered the military. They might have still been fighting for their right to survive in the universe, but South had just received the first bit of good news she had heard since she could remember.

The door closed behind her and, uncannily, a near by door in the same hall did the same. 

It shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did that, when she looked to see who had left the other room, she was staring down her brother in their identical uniforms and buzzcuts, as similar as they had been in any pictures their mom had forced on them. 

_Set yourself further apart._

The lies burned South’s hand where the snake oil salesmen had touched. But she couldn’t be nearly as angry with them as she had been with herself. 

Since when had anyone been only interested in _her._

*

South had no interest in babysitting her brother after he assured her he was fine, but the past kept thrumming in the back of her head, her eyes glancing toward him as she drove the ship that Hargrove’s men had loaded up for them. 

She didn’t have time. She didn’t have anymore favors she could give. 

What little security she had had before their last failed mission not only were gone but seemed to have never existed to begin with. They were in _deep shit_ and she couldn’t afford to take anymore chances. 

They needed to track down Maine and prove their worth to the men holding guns against their heads. They needed to _set themselves apart_ from the rest of the mercenaries working for Hargrove and his men. And they needed to run damage control on whatever lies or manipulations the Counselor was feeling he needed to provide for his own survival.

But Theta kept flickering on behind North’s back and looking at South. 

North had’t even turned around to acknowledge her once since they started their hunt. And that conscience South would swear she didn’t possess was acting up something _awful._

Looking over their path trajectory one more time, South hissed at herself and slammed her fists down on the dashboard around her steering. 

“Goddammit,” she muttered under her breath before stalling navigation and preparing them for landing. “Goddammit god _dammit._ I don’t have time for this shit.”

It was enough to grab her brother’s attention as well as the attention of the Theta who bothered to project over North’s shoulder  in front of him finally. 

“What are you–” North began only to be stopped when South threw up a finger.

“Shut up,” she warned.

The ship grew quiet around South, but she didn’t acknowledge it. Her bangs were threatening to get in her way again, but she ignored that as well. Everything was proving to just be on varying levels of irritation, and she was already making time for one thing that she was sure would bite her in the ass later. 

Once they came to a landing, North had moved to stand just behind South but he was silent as well, almost cautious around her.

South couldn’t help but think of that as a _good_ thing considering what bullshit she was willing to do just for him.

When the ship came to a complete stop, the stayed where they were in complete silence. There was a strained, stagnant air between them feeding through the filters of South’s rebreather. 

It felt like the ship was suffocating them.

“Well,” she said thinly. 

North’s head tilted slightly but he made no motion to move from his spot. He was waiting on her to give him something to go off of, some _clue_ about what she needed from him. 

It was the first time that South’s twin hadn’t just known what to do for her. 

Or, at least, it was the first time that he hadn’t just assumed.

“What do you need and how long do you need it?” she asked sharply. “I’m not taking on motherfucking _Maine_ by myself. And I’m not doing it with your head anywhere but on top of your shoulders. What do you need to deal with this, how much space, and how much time?” 

There was a difficult twitch to North’s shoulders but he straightened up. “I told you to respect my choice.”

“For fucksake, North, I _am,”_ she snapped. “And I’m respecting that, for whatever reason, it was still hard for you to make. Even if you made the right choice. So do what you need to get yourself ready for taking on our target. Get into your groove. Because you sure as hell weren’t in it after the end of the last mission.”

North looked as though he wanted to argue it with her, but his head dropped and he put his hands on his hips. He was struggling, and considering the way Theta’s projection lightened and darkened over his shoulder, it didn’t take a psychoanalyst to figure out exactly why. 

“Give me a break from Theta,” he told her. 

“What?” Theta and South asked in unison, the AI showing up on South’s side of the ship to better look North in the face. 

“Theta doesn’t like being pulled. I don’t want to leave him in the dark,” North clarified. “You’ve got an empty AI slot. Take him for me and give me thirty minutes to clear my head, target practice – _whatever._ Then I’ll take him back and be ready for anything you need.”

“Are you fucking serious?” South demanded. 

“North, don’t! You need me!” Theta argued as North took off his helmet and revealed the exhausted look South had come to know too well. “Please–”

“No one needs to be in my head right now,” North argued, eyes focused more on South than on his AI partner. A visible frustration came across Theta as his sprite stiffened. “If we’re doing this,” North continued, “as in _actually_ letting me do this, then I need to be alone.”

Crestfallen, Theta’s shoulders hung. “North…”

South did not drop her brother’s gaze, merely looking straight back at him before slowly nodding. “Do what you have to.”

He didn’t thank her, but North breathed a little easier and reached for the implants at the back of his head, a noticeable tremble in his fingers as they moved back. 

Though a hologram, Theta shuddered and flittered around before ultimately disappearing. It was some sort of blanketed emotional outburst that South wasn’t even sure she wanted to possibly address, even knowing that the AI was about to get very close and personal to her.

Having never had an AI of her own, South watched her brother’s actions with fascination. At first she tried to count the number of times he whispered apologies under his breath but ultimately couldn’t keep up once he actually ejected the AI. 

North didn’t stumble or lose his balance, but a visible weight seemed to be put on him once Theta was no longer in his head. Like the world became heavier and the weariness that had been plaguing his body since the moment South had reunited with him finally caught up with him.

Her brother all but deflated, but there was an almost _relief_ to it in his eyes as he looked down at the chip in his hand. 

“Sorry,” North said to the chip, a little louder that time. 

For a moment, South just watched the tenderness passing between him and the computer, but then she stepped forward, crossing her arms over her chest plate. “North, you _really_ look like shit. When’s the last time you’ve been without him up there?”

“Don’t worry about it,” North said sternly, eyes flickering back up to her as he reached out to hand off the chip. “You’ve seen how we do this before, right?”

“Only a million goddamn times in that stupid class that was of no use to me,” South retorted, though she reached for Theta and gently took the chip into her hands. 

“Well, it’s sure of use to you now,” North pointed out. “Theta’s… He’s different from other AI. He needs connections. Needs _people._ He doesn’t do well when he’s left on his own to stimulate himself in his chip or in the recharge stations.” Exhaustedly, North shook his head and shrugged. “He never told me why. And really, with all the stuff Freelancer was involved with, maybe he didn’t really need to. But, still, makes me feel bad to force him to be on the outside for too long. I appreciate you doing this.”

South took Theta’s chip and pressed her lips to a thin line, refusing to give her brother the full satisfaction of a frown. “What’re you gonna do out there?” she tried again.

“What I need to in order to be the best sniper you can have,” North assured her before turning back and walking toward the ship’s exit. He grabbed his rifle on the way out. 

Biting her lip, South tried to think of a reason to follow him, but she had truly meant what she had said before. 

She was doing all of this out of respect for him. Out of respect for his wishes. And out of respect of what he obviously, desperately needed before they finished up the hunt for Maine. 

After taking a collective breath, South reached for the back of her head and awkwardly traced her fingers over the base of her skull and neck. She had stopped rubbing at the implants idly a few weeks after Freelancer had put them in, and just a few days before coming to the realization that she had been passed up by everyone else for the third round of implantations. 

The bitterness raised itself from the back of her throat like an old, familiar friend. And her eyes glanced toward the door as she heard the first shot of North’s practice rounds. 

 _Set yourself further apart,_ whispered in her mind again, like an angry echo. And her hand almost lowered with Theta’s chip. 

When the moment had passed and a second shot rang outside, South cursed under her breath and took a seat at the cockpit again. Then, roughly and perhaps a bit carelessly, South inserted Theta’s chip. 

It was a sensation like South had never felt before. 

Electric and painful at first, like a charge spasming the muscles of her neck, then a small burning sensation that crawled out from it. The thought of spiders webbing beneath her skin set shivers down her spine that may or may not have been Theta himself reaching out and exploring the new connection. 

It stung and hurt and South felt her eyes cross slightly. Vision blurring as something soft and glowing came to center her vision. 

“Oh, hey,” Theta said timidly, rubbing at his shoulders as he hugged himself.

The two utterances echoed in South’s head, causing her to reach up immediately and grab at her ears. “What the – echo? Why are you–” 

 _Oh, sorry,_ Theta said, the echo vanished. _I’ve never implanted in anyone but North before. And that was_ so _long ago. I forgot about the voice thing. It’s kinda weird, but you’ll get over it soon. It’s kinda like how you don’t hear_ yourself _talk in your head, y’know? There’s lots of funny things like that._

South scowled at him. “Yeah. Fucking _hilarious,”_ she growled. “And if I have anything to say about it, you won’t be in here long enough to really force me to get used to _anything,_ alright?”

 _I hope I’m leaving soon, too,_ Theta said, sprite bobbing out South’s finally righted vision and glancing toward the door as North’s shots continued. 

Then, when the pause carried on a touch too long, Theta seemed to realize what he had said and turned to look at South. He raised his hands in the air apologetically. _I didn’t mean any offense or anything, South. Sorry._

She looked at him dully. “Sure.”

 _Honest,_ Theta persisted. _I just meant… Well I’m just worried about North. He’s…_ The sprite dropped its head. _He’s different from before. And he keeps telling me that it’s not him that’s changed but… It has to be, right? You can’t think you know someone so well – especially someone who took care of you – and just be_ that _wrong. Right? Not when you trust someone that much._

South stared at Theta for a good long moment before, unable to help herself anymore, she let out a long snort and covered her face. “Well, shit, kid. Welcome to growing up.”

A flash of irritation overcame South from nowhere, and while it wasn’t a feeling she was unaccustomed to, the suddenness of its onset and the uncontrollable feeling it gave her when it flared up frankly terrified her for the moment. 

Theta quickly pulled the emotions back in but South found herself staring at the AI’s projection. 

How long had her brother been dealing with the irregular and whiplashing emotions taking over from the little AI? And did it terrify him as much as it did her to not be in control of something so simple, or had he just been numbed to it all by that point?

 _This isn’t growing up or anything,_ Theta argued, acting as if he hadn’t just invaded South’s emotions on a troubling level. _I just feel… I don’t know if North was always like this or if he’s really changing. And that’s scary. Because I want to help him but I don’t know which one it is._

“And which one it is matters to you, I’m guessing,” South replied dryly.

 _If you’re worried about North, it should matter to you, too,_ Theta admonished her. 

Red hot rage overcame South, and there was no doubt in her mind that it was all her own. She straightened her posture and leered at Theta. “Are you accusing me of not caring about my brother? After all I’ve been doing lately to stick my neck out for the ungrateful son of a bitch? _Really?_ You want to go there right now?”

 _I’m saying you don’t act like it,_ Theta attempted instead. _At least not how I’d expect it._

South gave the thought a moment before forcing out a disgusted laugh of her own. “Fucking hell, where did this attitude come from? I _almost_ can respect your bitchiness.”

 _Almost,_ Theta repeated in a low grumble.

Narrowing her eyes, South sat back in the cockpit chair and watched Theta’s sprite carefully as her arms crossed. “Listen, you want some _real_ fucking advice? I mean, actual insider knowledge to this feeling you’re having right now toward North?” 

The little AI perked up. _Yeah._

“Here’s the first lesson,” South continued, “I haven’t met a single person – not even the nicest, most sincere, most _helpful_ person in the galaxy – who wasn’t working to meet their own goal first. If you want to _trust_ something, Theta, trust that everyone around you – including _you_  – is going to have another plan for what’s coming up. Even if it’s _for_ you, even if it’s what they think is _best,_ people’s plans are always going to be their own _first._ And you have to get on board with that or continue to get disappointed.”

Theta took pause, his sprite rubbing at his shoulders. _Even North?_

Nodding, South sighed. “Yeah. Even North,” she said. “Lesson number two? That doesn’t make people bad. Even if their plans are the worst fucking plans in the world, even if their plans really screw you over. There’s good guys who do bad things and bad guys who do good things. And when you take _good_ and _bad_ outside of the vernacular of a war? You fuck everything up. If you want to be happy with yourself and the things you have to do, you have to figure out what you believe is greater good or…”

When she trailed off, South could feel a nagging tug at the back of her mind. _Curiosity._

Theta tilted his head. _Or?_

South glanced back at him. “Or you do what North does. Deny that there’s more than two colors to look at the world in. Which, just so you’re aware, you have to be pretty fucked up to do already,” South said, glancing off as another shot sounded. “The worst thing Freelancer did was reveal to North that we were the bad guys all along.” When she looked back to Theta, the AI seemed more attentive than ever. “North’s always had to look at things that way, Theta. He didn’t change recently to be like this. It’s the only way he’s lived with the fact that he can look down his scope and end enemies’ lives in a blink. _But_ he _has_ changed. He’s changed because he’s had to flip the switch. He can’t look on the other side of that scope and think he’s aiming at a _bad guy_ anymore. Do you get that?”

For a moment the little AI seemed to close up, but slowly he nodded. 

 _So he shot York because we’re not the good guys?_ Theta whispered.

“More or less,” South answered.

Once again the AI closed off. They listened to two more shots before Theta finally spoke again.

 _Thank you for telling me the truth, South,_ he said somberly.

“Honest is about all I got left, kid,” South replied hastily.

They sat in the ship and waited until North came back to return everyone back to their normal places. 

* * *

Getting his head back on straight was by no means a simple task, but North was grateful for how much easier it was to compile the pieces when he was given the time and space to do it. 

But it didn’t take long into the campaign before he was itching for the soft vibration at the back of his neck. 

Without Theta it was difficult to feel anything at all anymore.

Even once Theta had implanted again and revealed himself to be more quiet and reserved than ever before, it was better than the hollow nothing that North forced upon himself on his own to regain that sharpshooter’s focus. 

South was neither happy nor irritated to get them back in the air, and Theta seemed cautious upon his return. If North had been more prone to paranoia their combined efforts would have really set him off. 

As it were, he believed things were as focused for their mission as they could have been. 

Until the hailing beacon lit up on the dashboard, drawing both North and South’s gazes to it. There was an uncomfortable shift between them as South reached for the communicator and allowed the screen for Control to come on.

“Dammit,” South hissed under her breath as the frequency tuned.

“Greetings Agents North and South Dakota,” Control’s masked voice said calmly .

“I take it you have information for us regarding the Meta,” South said, voice taut but not intimidated. She was putting up a confident front, anyone other than her own twin might have never been wise to it. “We would love to be briefed on it, Sir.”

“I do have information, though I do not believe you will be even _pleased_ to hear it,” Control countered.

North felt himself stiffen and he looked suspiciously at the screen. Theta retreated more into the back of North’s mind, projection long disappeared. Waves of anxiety and nervousness joined Theta’s incessant humming. 

"After the enthusiasm you presented me with in regards to your new mission,” Control said, “I informed your former partners of the break in our arrangement. And how, if a team of _two_ could prove to be more useful to my various causes than a group of _four_ , I could not imagine spreading my resources further than necessary.”

North watched as South’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. Her gaze was focused on the skies ahead of them but he knew her focus was on Control’s words. 

 _I don’t like this guy at_ all, _North,_ Theta spoke up at last

 _Me neither,_ North replied simply.

“Did they take getting fired well?” South asked dryly.

“I am not in a position of _firing_ at the moment, Agent South. Rather, I am allowing for _opportunity,”_ Control corrected. “Opportunity – much like what I have provided for you and your brother time and time again.”

“An opportunity for _us_ or for _them?”_ South continued to press, voice growing tighter each time. 

“A mutual opportunity,” Control said. “A competition, if you will. The winner shall impress upon me the importance of maintaining a business partnership. While the other… _Well._ Let us just say that you will find that my disappointment is not a quality that is eagerly earned.” 

“Wait!” South tried to argue only for the screen to cut off on the other end. 

She stared at it blankly for a long moment before letting out a frustrated scream and slamming her fists down on the console three times in rapid succession. With a violent flip of her hand, she engaged autopilot and rested back in her chair, releasing another scream of anger. 

Theta thrummed strongly inside of North’s skull

“South,” North said, voice low. 

"I am _so sick_ of getting fucked over, North!” she roared. “I am _fucking done with it!”_ She spun around in her chair. “I am so tired of being used and ignored and set up for failure – _set up to fail,_ North. Can you imagine what the fuck that feels like? To have the asshole pulling the strings being the one determined to cut your line?”

He studied her carefully before nodding. “Yeah, I can.” When South looked at him unconvinced, North sighed and took the seat next to her. “Nevermind. Sorry, South. You’re right. No one knows that feeling as intimately as you.”

She nodded. “Damn straight no one does.”

Unexpectedly, Theta popped up between them. There was a nervous wringing of his hands but the AI actually seemed more involved than usual. “South, you worked with Recovery… is there anything from doing that stuff that could maybe give us an advantage over the Insurrectionists?”

Surprised, North looked at Theta carefully. He fidgeted under the attention but remained relatively confident. 

South considered the question carefully, bringing a hand to her chin as she did so. Her eyes widened and she snapped her fingers. 

“Theta, you’re genius!” she said spinning around to face the console once more and immediately began typing away furiously at the nearest keyboard. 

Curious but confused, North stayed back and watched his sister work dutifully for a few moments. When she seemed to be set in a good groove, he crossed his arms and closed the space between them so he could get a better look at the screen. 

“What are we looking at?” he asked her.

“My main job in the field was recovering stolen or misplaced equipment,” South explained, a confidents smirk on her face. “But the other thing Recovery Agents were supposed to work on was tracking the signals of injured agents in the field through the emergency beacons the armors let off after certain injury thresholds are breached.”

North looked at her worriedly. “What? Are you serious? They’ve been able to do that?”

“Yeah,” South said, nonchalant. “Point is, after how fucked up Maine was when we last saw him… then… then…” 

When South trailed off, North gave her a curious look. “South? What is it?”

She didn’t look away from the screen, her fingers tapping on the sides of it with curious intent before she looked back at North very seriously. “We can track Maine with the system… but it’s also catching me up on some other Recovery news I wasn’t aware of.”

Theta and North glanced to each other then back to South.

“Like…?” North pressed.

“All points bulletins,” South answered, still reluctant. “On _Washington.”_

North felt his shoulders drop and his eyes widen. “Wash… he’s _alive?_ He _escaped?”_ He turned away from South, bringing up his hand to his face. He hadn’t even _thought_ of his old friend in so long! “York was always upset that we left him,” North said lowly. “I hated that Wash was stuck in there, don’t get me wrong, but he wasn’t… he wasn’t family. I couldn’t understand the level at which it bothered him.”

The silence that followed his outburst was deafening. North felt compelled to continue. 

“He would’ve wanted Wash to be found… taken care of,” North surmised. 

Despite the minimal effort, silence overcame the ship again. At least it did until South cursed under her breath again and turned back toward North. 

“Do you want to honor that wish?” she demanded “Do you want us to go off course and honor that last wish?” 

He stared at her for a long moment. “Why would you even offer that?”

"I’m offering it because I’m willing to do it, jackass,” South snapped. “So do you want to go or not? We’ll pick back up for the Meta after and–”

“Keep going forward,” North ordered. 

South began to argue, “But–”

“We’re doing _our_ plan and sticking to it,” North said firmly. 

They kept eye contact during the exchange then, slowly, South began nodding and turned back to the ship’s navigation system. She began plotting their course with the recovery beacon the system had provided. 


	45. Recovery Zero XIV: Prioritizing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a lot to write – both time wise and just, well, that emotional racket ball I’m sure you guys can pinpoint after you read. Let’s just say the old Recovery None philosophy of bad decisions made for the right reasons holds true : ) Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Special thanks to @freshzombiewriter, @washingtonstub, @secretlystephaniebrown, @analiarvb, @notatroll7, Yin, @ephemeraltea, and @meteoratdusk for the feedback!

Medical science was truly something of the future, not in the least because of the minor miracle that was their suits and the integration of the various healing factors. 

There wasn’t much doubt in Carolina’s head that York’s suit and the remains of the overused healing unit that had done more to save her partner’s life than she had. 

The only thing she really felt like taking credit for in it all was getting them _into_ the damned mess to begin with. 

“Hey hey hey,” Epsilon’s voice echoed from her armor as gently as his boisterous tones could allow. 

When Epsilon projected over her shoulder, Carolina managed to rip her eyes away from York for the first time since she started standing there. York had been sitting on the edge of parked ship, thousand yard stare testing the limits of its monicker, and silently brooding in a way she had never seen from him before. 

She hadn’t even _wanted_ to look away from York until Epsilon interrupted her. 

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Epsilon said decisively. “Lighten up. Everyone goofs.”

Carolina gritted her teeth. “ _Goof,_ Epsilon? This is not a _goof,”_ she snapped. “He lost… Well, he lost Delta.” Her eyes darted back to York, but only momentarily before coming back to her AI. “I’ve been there before. But.. for me it was two AI.”

“Hey, I know. I share this really depressing brainspace of yours,” Epsilon reminded her with a sigh. “Not exactly fun times knowing what it was like to have, well, one of _me_ ripped out of here before.”

“My condolences,” Carolina replied thinly.

“Okay, okay. Cool it,” Epsilon said. “My _point_ being, if you don’t like someone speaking about _their_ take on your pain, maybe don’t do it when you finally get over yourself and talk to York. He’ll probably not like it either.”

“I wasn’t – I _don’t,”_ Carolina sputtered. She shook her head and crossed her arms. “I wasn’t going to go over and make it some kind of misery competition.”

“Sure,” Epsilon scoffed. “You argue with the guy _actually in your head_  and who _knows things._ I mean, personally, I’d like to sit you both down and remind you that I’m the one here that lost a brother. Kinda. Sorta. I mean, he’s the only one of my kind I know! Or, remember knowing at least. No one’s checking on how I feel about it–”

Shutting down the amount of attention she paid the AI, Carolina looked instead back to York. She took note of the small tremble that took over his even shoulders. Before she had observed the exact motion a few times, Carolina had grown worried that it was the man crumbling slightly within himself, crushed under the pressure of his loss.

Instead she had learned it was timed – the automatic release of the pain relievers from the healing unit doing its best to repair him sinew by sinew. 

“I’m not going to go over there and try to talk to him like there’s anything I could say that would even remotely ease his loss,” Carolina informed Epsilon harshly. “I won’t insult him by treating him like a child. I’m… _respecting_ him. I’m giving him space to recover.”

Epsilon’s sprite tilted its head. “Wait wait wait… Are you telling me that your grand plan here is to act like everything’s fine? Leave him _alone_ to take care of it _himself?_ That’s the big crackpot idea from Agent Carolina?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Carolina asked.

The AI hesitated before flickering green, only for a moment, before shrugging. “Nah. I guess not. It’s not like anyone could make you do something you don’t want to anyway. Just… Promise me this isn’t going to devolve into your big scheme being to just run away from him and stuff. That seems… I don’t know. Excessive. And not actually dealing with anything.”

“Of course not,” Carolina said, knowing full well that no amount of confidence in her voice would keep Epsilon’s prying insight to her mind away. “Just trust me to deal with my own men.”

“Fine,” Epsilon sighed.

Carolina watched him carefully before pressing her lips together to a thin line. “And, Epsilon… I _am_ sorry about not asking you how you are dealing with Delta’s… With what happened.”

“It’s okay,” Epsilon said, flickering green again. “I’m… y’know… dealing with it my way.”

Squinting for a moment, Carolina knew she couldn’t continue to ignore what was right in front of her. “Epsilon,” she said lowly. “You keep… Is that on purpose? Are you _doing_ that?”

Confusion overwhelmed her mind in waves. “Doing what?”

Mouth opening slightly, Carolina began to press the situation when there was a loud bang of a door hitting the wall behind her. She turned with Epsilon in tow and looked to see Niner looking at them from the cockpit doorway. 

The pilot’s face, even in a scowl, was decisively neutral. At least for Niner’s usually expressive fare. Her eyes looked as though they had heavy rings added to their usual baggage. 

When she got a good look over Carolina and Epsilon, she then glanced toward where York sat in the distance. Her expression faltered for less that a second before turning sharply back on Carolina. Her head nodded back toward the cockpit. 

“Come on, I’ve got something,” she announced as she turned her chair around and wheeled back toward the console of the ship.

Epsilon projected more directly in front of Carolina vision and gave out a sigh as he watched Niner leave them behind. “Yeesh, think it could be good news for once? This stuff is getting ridiculously depressing. I don’t know how much more bad news we can stand.”

“If we don’t get good news, you and I will _make_ good news,” Carolina said simply. “With you moderating my speed boost, it would’t take too long.”

“Hey hey hey, you _promised,”_ Epsilon reminded her with a flicker. “Running away isn’t in the plan right now.”

She wanted to argue that it had been a joke, but even as she thought of the defense, Carolina realized it wasn’t very funny. 

Her lips pressed to a thin line and instead of arguing with Epsilon further, Carolina pressed forward and followed Niner’s lead instead. She let Epsilon’s nagging fade into background noise, like the gentle hum in the back of her skull, until he didn’t even bother projecting over her shoulder anymore and instead, impatiently, projected over the console by Niner.

“So what’s the news, Command?” he asked.

Niner squinted at him, scrutinizing the AI. “What the– why the hell are you calling me that? I oughta give you a virus.”

“What? We’re supposed to call you Command in the field, right? I’m not misremembering that, am I?” Epsilon asked. He glanced toward Carolina. “What kind of shitty specialty is my trait if I can’t _remember_ stuff even in _your_ brain–”

“You’re remembering things correctly, you just lack the context,” Carolina reminded him. “Memories without context is just–”

“Junk cluttering my file, yeah, okay. Got it,” he sighed. The AI glanced toward Niner again. “So no ‘Command’ calling?”

“Fuck no,” Niner snapped back.

“What have you got for us, Niner?” Carolina asked, hoping to move the conversation along as quickly as possible. 

Arguments always seemed to excite Epsilon something fierce and his hum in the back of her mind would become ridiculously difficult to ignore. It was enough to give her a headache when she wasn’t the one on the receiving end of his argumentative attitude. 

“Right,” Niner said, pulling herself from the arguing AI as well and physically turning toward the computers across the console. “First, I have to remind you how lucky you are to have me – not only am I one of the only people in the galaxy studied up on this stupidly complicated server Freelancer uses, but I’m such a goddamn genius I was able to use that stuff to get us a readout on these basic-as-fuck computers here.”

“Meh, I could’ve worked something out,” Epsilon prodded.

“You’re the best, Niner. No one can deny it,” Carolina replied. “But what did you _find?”_

“Like you were asking me to, I’ve been running all outside frequencies that have been used to contact Command for the past four months,” Niner said, tapping on the screen with a running scroll of various frequencies. “You really think one of them is going to be the Director?”

“Yes,” Carolina responded without hesitation. “He needs to control everything. He needs to feel as though the day to day running of his life’s work is still underhand. He wouldn’t give that up, not even to go into hiding.” Her eyes glanced sharply to Niner. “And given the various conversations we’ve had with the Counselor, I can also guarantee the two of them have been in regular contact. Even if it’s over a computer.” Sh watched the frequencies intently again. “ _Especially_ over a computer.”

Epsilon’s sprite flickered green again momentarily and then it began nodding confidently. “Yeah. Yeah, guys, there’s already three patterns I’m detecting. I’d be willing to bet they’re a rotation of dummy signals.”

“I already know that!” Niner snapped. “What? You think I’d just call you over because of a _hunch?_ Give me some credit.”

“Sorry,” Carolina and Epsilon harmonized.

“Right, so there’s three dummy signals used on rotation that I’d be willing to bet my chair on that they’re the Director masking his real location,” Niner joked. “I narrowed them down to four bunker locations we can check to make sure, but to cut down on goose chasing even _more_ , I figured you two could do your special-bonded-memory-magic to figure it out.”

Carolina and Epsilon glanced at each other before turning full attention back on Niner.

“It doesn’t exactly work that way,” Epsilon argued.

“Of course it doesn’t! You think I actually believe you’re a fairy?” Niner snapped. “You ever head of sarcasm before? Shut up. I need you to jump into the computer and isolate the most recent signal on that rotation so we can figure out where to go first.”

Epsilon bristled. “Oh. Yeah! I mean, that’s something I can totally do.” He glanced toward Carolina. “Are you–”

“I’m fine,” Carolina said. “I can do fine without you for a few minutes, Epsilon.”

“I know, it’s just…” Epsilon hesitated, thinking over his words carefully before continuing. “It’s just that, even if I said you shouldn’t bring it up to York, I know it’s still tough on you to be reminded of the whole… Eta and Iota thing, and then to see Delta go, and now–”

“You’re not ripping yourself out of my brain. You’re jumping. I’m not ignorant of the difference,” Carolina told him. “Now go on.”

Somewhat sarcastically, Epsilon saluted just before his sprite disappeared. 

The humming stopped in the back of Carolina’s skull temporarily, leaving a hollow quiet in its place. She breathed, centered herself, and ignored how _quiet_ and _alone_ the feeling was in her own head. 

Then the former Freelancer took note of how Niner was still watching her carefully, fingers tapping in rhythm on the console.

“There’s something else,” Carolina observed. “Something you don’t want Epsilon to hear directly.”

“Yeah,” Niner said, eyes full of distrust as they looked to the console. “Carolina… I picked up a few other signals on there. One of them was super weak, you’d have to know what you’re looking for… but considering who we’re up against happens to be _the entirety of everyone_  there’s a good chance they’re seeing these readouts, too.”

“Maybe,” Carolina said cockily, crossing her arms. “Don’t forget, they don’t have _you_ anymore. Loss of an advantage if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere, Carolina. We’re already up shit creek without a paddle,” Niner said, though the smirk that worked its way onto her lips seemed to suggest she didn’t mind the compliment. “But we know who the signals belong to.”

Her mind immediately leaped to a few conclusions. “If it’s Maine…”

“It’s not,” Niner answered immediately. “Christ, even if it was I don’t know if I’d even _mention_ him while still on this ship.” Her eyes darted toward the door but then quickly refocused on Carolina. “The first one is someone we’ve not heard from in a long time,” she explained. “Wyoming.”

“Wyoming?” Carolina parroted. “That’s… After he’s lied low for so long, he puts up a signal? That’s suspicious. Unless someone else has found him first, or…” She looked seriously at Niner. “Or he wants to be found. But I couldn’t imagine _why_ that would be.”

“Considering the run ins I’ve had lately? I feel like we’re only getting part of the story, truth be told,” Niner replied. “Which brings me to the second signal. The _important_ one.”

“Can’t disagree with not finding Wyoming’s that important to the current mission,” Carolina joked dryly.

“Carolina,” Niner said gravely, drawing the Freelancer’s attention. “It’s _Washington._ He’s the other signal.”

Carolina stared back at Niner for a moment. She could tell by the tone alone that it was an old argument carried over – that concern and worry for her former teammate that Niner possessed and felt, very _obviously,_ that Carolina should have as well. 

And it wasn’t like Carolina disagreed. There was something wrong with the lack of interest the news about Washington gave her, she knew that. And it wasn’t _just_ Niner anymore who was acting as her barometer on the subject.

“York would want to hear that,” Carolina said lowly. “He was worried about Wash.”

Niner’s fingers stopped tapping and she eased back against her chair. Her chin tilted up slightly as if she was evaluating Carolina down the length of her nose. “How much have you said to him?”

“Not much,” Carolina admitted. “But I’ve made sure the healing unit’s running, and I’ve dressed the wounds that are too much even for it to mend. He’s cognizant, and I don’t see any signs of permanent nerve damage outside of the partial paralysis on his face that was already there. Still, it’s a bit more aggravated for the time being–”

“Christ, Carolina! I meant emotionally! What have you said to him to let him know you’re _emotionally_ there?” Niner snapped. “How does he seem to be doing _emotionally?_ Have you asked him?”

"What is there to say to him about this, Niner?” Carolina demanded. “Do you know? Because I sure as hell don’t. And I _lived_ through this already.” She leaned back, head shaking. “Do you know what I wanted after what happened, Niner? I wanted to be alone. I didn’t want false sympathies. So that’s what I’m giving York. It’s all I know what to do.”

Niner scowled. “How can you forget so quickly?” she scoffed. “You might’ve _wanted_ to be alone, Carolina, but at the end of the day – as fucked up as Freelancer was – they knew to give you _me._ You had _me_ during all that. And like it or not, you needed me. You still need me.” 

Mouth snapping shut, Carolina wasn’t even sure what could be said. 

Seeing that Carolina had never truly given her that credit, Niner let out a bitter laugh and shook her head. “So dense sometimes, I swear.” Her eyes hardened as she looked at Carolina again. “I can’t make you do shit, Carolina. But I know you’re his person, alright? You mean something to him and York _needs_ something right now. Don’t know how you can miss that, but he does. And if he doesn’t get it…” Niner grimaced. “We’re gonna lose him. No matter how healthy you get him.”

Carolina considered the words, considered the tightness in her chest that she had had since the moment she realized York was first in danger. 

“You didn’t see the way he looked at me when he woke up,” Carolina muttered. “Niner, that… the way he looked at me–”

Before the words worked their way out of her mouth, Epsilon’s sprite appeared over the console. 

“Guys!” he shouted excitedly. “I think we’ve got him!”

* * *

York’s head was empty.

No. That wasn’t it. 

York’s head was hollow. It was incomplete. There was a silent buzz between his ears that did not hum, did not sing, did not pulse with enthusiasm or irritation, did not stir in thoughts or facts or nonsense he never took the time to process. 

There was only a thought then…

_Pause._

The next thought.

It was such an alien thing that York found himself scratching at the chipped and dented edges of his helmet, wanting to rip through metal and kevlar until he could scratch at the surface of his skull to find the missing sensation again. He didn’t. He didn’t because _that_ would be _crazy._

And York just couldn’t think enough to be that anymore either. 

He stared at the distance, at the non-setting sun and vaguely recalled Delta’s explanations long ago about terraforming and planets with rotations so slow as to be unnoticed. 

He stared and realized that despite himself he had never really listened to the answers for the endless questions he had asked the tiny AI. He realized he had just trusted Delta to be there with the answers as needed.

York _trusted_ that Delta would be _there._

Again his fingers scratched and fumbled and acted out the scream that had been stuck in his throat since the moment he woke up to green eyes instead of a green light. 

“I have to get out of here,” York realized as the HUD of his helmet updated his healing unit’s progress report in a fuzz of static and damage. 

There was an echo of the words from his mouth that bounced around the inside of his skull until it was meaningless dribble. 

It hung there, not commented on, like some sort of dying breath inside his brain. 

Should he decide to stay? Should he decide to leave? 

York grabbed at the edges of his helmet and squeezed, _squeezed_ to find some relief from the lack of peripheral sense, from the partial blindness that was suddenly consuming, from the lack of harmony behind his eyes to begin with. 

There wasn’t relief and it took a second too long for York to remember to _breathe_ and it all came out as a gulping gasp for air. 

The HUD told him he was healing. 

York spat at it for lying. 

The thought lingered in echo still – _leaving._ That was what Delta had wanted, wasn’t it? That was the logical thing to do, wasn’t it?

It only made _sense,_ didn’t it?

He tried to gather the strings of thoughts – questions, their answers, and the jumble of memories and facts and calculations that meant nothing even as they clung to the sides of his concentration – and make something of the mess. But he couldn’t do it alone. 

York needed a _sounding board_ if nothing else. 

Just as the hollowness was setting in once more, York slumped against the doorframe of the ship and stared at the distance again. Dates, times, calculations, directions – they were so close to fitting together he could almost taste it.

“York,” Carolina’s voice called.

He squeezed his eyes closed. He was _so_ close to figuring out what to do next–

He could feel the brush of her shoulders as she sat down beside him. It wasn’t a delicate thing – a grind of metal plates against metal plates. A motion too fast to think it was anything but her bodily dropping into position after saddling up alongside him. 

The delicacy, the _intimacy,_ of it was everything beyond the touch. 

She was _there._ After so long of wishing she were there, after questing for her to _be_ there, she was.

Carolina was sitting beside him. But only because she chose to. 

After all that time he had exactly what he had set out to find. 

And Delta _wasn’t_ there. And there was something just intrinsically wrong with that fact.

“How…” Carolina began and stop. Her voice sounded thick, as if each time she opened her mouth she could just barely keep the words from exploding out. There seemed to be a _lot_ that she needed to say and York wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear it.

Instead of looking at Carolina, York kept his gaze on the distance and tried to pick up the pieces of his thoughts that had been mixed once more by Carolina’s intrusion. 

“What is the progress of your healing unit?” Carolina finally asked, a little too loud.

He took a long pause, letting the question echo a few times in his head without a helpful, eager answer popping up without command. Then he lowered his chin, taking a breath and answering, “Functioning.”

Carolina stared at him intently for a few moments before tilting her head. “Is that _you_ or the _healing unit_ that’s functioning?”

There was a part of him that’s aware that he should have been cutting some sort of joke, reassuring her that the world was right on its axis. 

But the goddamn planet rotated too slowly for him to know that for sure.

“Listen, York, I’m…” she paused uncomfortably again. She didn’t know what she was doing.

Which was fine. York didn’t know what they were doing either.

“What happened to Delta was… awful,” she said flatly. “What happened to _you_ is awful. And it’s just… What’s happened to _all_ of us is terrible and it has to stop. It has to change.”

York blinked at the statement. _Change_ was exactly what needed to happen. _Change_ was exactly what he needed to hear.

Cautiously, _hopefully,_ York lifted his head and looked to Carolina. 

“What Freelancer has done to _everyone_ cannot go upunished,” she continued forcefully.

 _No,_ York’s head provided.

“The Director has to be found, he has to be stopped – we have to _show him_ that what he’s done has consequences.”

_No._

Sometime in between the frantic worry fuzzing his thoughts and the _Nos_ echoing, York felt Carolina’s hand on top of his and he felt himself grow numb. It was everything he wanted, it was _nothing_ he wanted. 

Schedules and days–

“York? Are you with me?” Carolina asked.

“No,” he finally said.

Leaning back and away from him, Carolina sounded flustered. “What?”

“No,” he answered again. “I’m not with you.”

There was not much of a reaction on Carolina’s end, as if she was attempting to solve a puzzle from his words rather than taking them at face value. Still, she shifted away from him slightly, keeping only her hand on his. 

“Okay,” she said lowly. “If that’s… Do you mean you don’t understand? Do you mean you have another plan–”

“Another plan,” York answered readily. He squared himself more with Carolina and freed his hand from hers, grabbing her shoulders. “It’s over, Carolina, okay? Delta’s gone. North and South are with other people. Tex left. Everyone’s _not with us._ There’s nothing to avenge, there’s nothing to gain by going down this road again. We need to just _leave._ We need to _go_ and get away from here. We need to escape – let other people track down the bastard. Let the _law_ handle whatever happens to him!”

“That’s not _punishment!_ Do you really believe that a man like him would ever really _pay_ for what he’s done if we’re not there to _make_ him?” Carolina fought back readily.

“I don’t care!” York cried out. “I don’t _care_ about any of that! I just want to leave – that’s all Delta wanted to do. He knew the calculations, I can’t do them, but things added _up_ and he knew that we needed to just go before more people got hurt, before… before he was taken.” 

Carolina became quiet, just looking into York’s face, silently stewing. 

They were so far from the same page it was like they were reading different books.

“I remember the launch schedules,” York informed her, mind racing – hobbling along with a new goal keeping it focused. “I have them still, I can get all of us – you, me, _Niner_  – to stowaway. We can get off this fucking planet. We can _leave_ and we can _live_ somewhere, somehow.”

She pulled away from his hold and York felt his brain grinding to a halt again. 

“We _will,”_ she promised. “As soon as the Director–”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

York threw his arms around Carolina and forced her into a crushing hug. His breath shook, as he held her, shaking his head. 

“I can’t do this,” he told her. “I can’t. I’m so sorry.” 

Releasing Carolina, York looked at her almost in mourning. Then, ignoring the warnings on his HUD, he grabbed the door frame and pulled himself onto his feet. 

Carolina stayed in her spot, stiff and in shock. “York… Don’t do this. _Please.”#_

“I have to leave, I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I have to get out of here – I can’t.. I know why you can’t. _God,_ do I understand that you can’t leave, Lina. I’m sorry that it can’t be different. I just wish it was.”

On her feet, Carolina looked him over. “I could stop you. You’re in no condition to leave.”

York looked at her tiredly. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But you don’t want me around if I don’t choose to. I didn’t choose to stay with you before. I chose to help Tex.” When Carolina grew quiet, York felt a watery smile on his face. “That’s why you never looked for me, right? Why you only came for me now?” 

Carolina dropped her head. 

“I love you,” York finally said, feeling every bit of bitterness and hurt he had ever felt between them resurface.  

She stayed quiet, looking at him intently.

For a moment, York was ready to leave it at that, at her silence. But she managed to still surprise him, to stand up and shake her head, wavering on her feet more than she had with any hit that had ever landed on her before.

“I… I do,” she told him almost stubbornly. “I do… _too.”_ Carolina audibly swallowed and ducked her head away from him. “We’ll drop you off wherever you need. I just… I can’t say goodbye.”

Harshly, metal clinging against each other at a grind, Carolina brushed past him and all but raced for the cockpit again.

York stumbled with the brush off and caught himself against the same door frame before slowly sliding down, connecting to the floor with a thud.

The healing unit continued to lie about his progress. And York asked himself if he was doing the right thing so many times over that his brain throbbed at the silence that followed it.

* * *

Epsilon was screaming in her head, trying to get her to at least _acknowledge_ his suggestions, his orders, his _anything_ as she continued forward. But she couldn’t pay attention to him, head throbbing with his urgency. 

Instead she ran, like she always ran, toward the nearest piece of safety she cold afford and tried to also ignore the way Niner stood there, hands outstretched in horror. 

“What the hell was that!?” Niner all but screamed.

“I don’t know,” Carolina answered before almost in the same breath amending, “What needed to happen.”

Niner threw up her arms. “What the fuck is wrong with you people?” she demanded. “What are you running from? _Each other!?_ Get back over there and try to make this right–”

“There’s nothing to make right, Niner!” Carolina growled back. “He’s choosing to leave. I’m choosing to stay the course. We’re both doing the right thing!”

The pilot squeezed the armrests of her chair as she leaned forward. “What are you even talking about? This is complete nonsense – you’re _both_ idiots now get in there and discuss this like adults! The man is high as fuck on pain killers, and you’re exhausted to the point of delirium! When’s the last time you slept? Don’t you assholes know not to make rash decisions under circumstances like this?”

Without warning, Epsilon appeared over Carolina’s shoulder. “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to say! _Thank you!”_ He then turned to Carolina, flickering green. “You _promised_ not to run! You promised to try–”

“Oh my god,” Niner said, getting their attention. They all looked to see York no longer sitting by the ship’s door. “Did he just _leave!?_ Did he just– Carolina!”

Her heart nearly stopped. “I can’t follow him,” she said out loud. “I… I trusted him so I took the tracer out of his suit. He can track me but I can’t–” She grabbed the sides of her helmet. “ _Fuck!_ I trusted him! What’s _wrong_ with me!?”

The thoughts in her head ran rampant, with more voices than simply her own. She couldn’t make sense of it – she recognized herself, recognized a harmonious hum in the back from so long ago, recognized Epsilon’s panicky snark. 

But _why_ did it seem like the more her heart broke, the more voices seemed to splinter between her ears?


	46. Recovery One XIV: Miscommunication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for things to start getting bumpy. Which gets us back to my seemingly masochist streak as a writer since there’s probably nothing I fret over more than trying to write action sequences and, of course, what is most of the last third of this story? Well, I’ll let you guys decide for yourselves ; ) 
> 
> Special thanks to @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @freshzombiewriter, @washingtonstub, ironlamb, @notatroll7,Yin, @meteoratdusk, Agent_texas_51, and doodlingNutjob for the feedback!

She was rushing off into a world of unknown variables, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when the anger within her felt as though it was frothing over. 

How _dare_ they hurt Church and leave. How _dare_ they not face her in a fight.

Tex was racing as fast as her robotic limbs could take her. There were actual _tracks_ from a warthog to guide her – fresh ones – which meant that Wyoming and O’Malley were getting sloppy and careless. 

At least, that was her initial thought in spite and anger.

The further she carried herself forward, the more she reconsidered her logic and the more she remembered the previous setup and trap. They thought they were going to outmaneuver her _again_ with old tricks.

Coming to a stop, Tex allowed her overheating body to vent for a few moments. Her eyes darted around the room and her shoulders dropped. 

Her anger hadn’t lessened whatsoever, but Tex knew she was going to have to play things _smart_ or have to deal with an entirely different ordeal.

She had little interest in being captured by these assholes. 

Taking a moment, Tex searched herself – her _processor_ – for any useful tricks or applications hidden away by her fierce subconscious desire to not be a bunch of recycled binary. 

Something easier _said_ than _done._

“Come _on,”_ she roared at herself. She knelt on the rocky ground, eyes intently set forward. “Come _on._ You are a _machine!_ This should be _simple shit!_ Why can’t you just… accept… you’re not…”

The word did not come out, but it set heavily on her vocalizer. 

_Real._

_You’re not real, Tex. You were_ never _real. You were_ always _a machine. And you’ve got to accept that that’s all you are._

Tex’s other knee hit the rock as well, her arms shakily keeping her up. 

“I can’t accept that,” she finally roared at herself. “I can’t accept that I’m not real! I can’t accept that some jumbled code is all I am. Church is more than that. He’s _Church._ Why can’t I be _Tex_ and still run all these systems? Why do I have to…”

That was truly the question, though. The one that was so large, so daunting she could hardly see it in its entirety. 

Maybe, just _maybe_ the traits did not contradict. Perhaps – just _perhaps_ – the artificiality of her creation did not make her any less real.

Her binary, her _coding,_ did not account for the anger boiling within her circuits at the moment. The programming did not conflict the joy she felt with the memory of her protectiveness toward the goons from Blood Gulch. 

Tex thought, for the first time, that one aspect did not fully invalidate the other. 

After all, she was a shadow – she’d _written_ her own code. She was not one of Alpha’s copies. 

Not really.

Without much thought, she pulled up a signal tracer across her HUD and pulled a map from a satellite signal.

She  sat back on her knees, amazed. “I can do that?” she asked. 

Before she thought much more about it, she saw that there was an incredibly strong, incredibly _loud_ signal with an AI nearby. 

Smirking, Tex got to her feet. “Well, well,” she said cheerfully. “Looks like I’m a fully realized badass now, Wyoming. Have fun dealing with _this.”_

* * *

The first thought that ran through Washington’s head when his eyes opened wide was that his blood loss had probably been more significant than he first realized. 

His second, as he gasped for air and rocked himself back and forth, trying weakly to right himself, was that – relatively speaking – dying by blood loss was one of the lamer fates he could have resolved himself to. 

“See! I told you it’d just take some orange juice.”

Wash righted himself with the aid of two pairs of hands that clasped his shoulders tightly. And, for just a _moment,_ he allowed himself to process the familiar voice that was speaking.

“ _Doc?”_ he asked weakly.

“Hey! He even remembers me!” the medic said, looking up to Caboose and Tucker who were lording over Washington. “I told you that our time together before running into all of you in the canyon had been significant!”

Before things could have progressed much further, Wash ushered all of his strength and reached to his sidearm, pulled it out, and aimed it directly for Doc’s head. 

“Whoa!” Doc cried out, throwing up his hands. “Wait wait! I’m a pacifist! Tell him, Tucker–”

“Dude,” Tucker’s voice admonished as he reached over and tried, without success, to pull Wash’s arm away. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you delicious orange juice! He totally just saved your life!” 

“I don’t understand what happened,” Wash snapped. “Why would he save me?”

Doc crossed his arms petulantly. “Well, _despite_ you naysayers, I _do_ take the hippocratic oath almost as seriously as the oath of Never-Accept-Without-Copay.”

“He takes that one _very_ seriously,” Caboose informed Wash from his other side. “We had to trade our favorite socks for you to be treated. It was a _very_ hard decision.”

Wash stared at all of them before allowing his gaze to concentrate on Doc once again. “Is the Omega AI still tucked away in there?”

“Who? O’Malley?” Doc asked. He then cackled. “Because the answer would be _yessss._ Hahmhahhmha.”

“Yeah, it’s annoying,” Tucker spat out.

Nearly a second passed after the clarification before Wash cocked back his gun and caused everyone to leap into action. 

Doc screamed and covered his face, Tucker threw his whole body into bringing Wash’s arm down to the ground, and Caboose screamed “I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING” all at once.

To his ever growing frustration, Wash was easily taken down by Tucker. Even if he owed it to having _barely_ enough blood to keep him conscious, he found the situation overall unacceptable so he threw off the trooper for good measure.

“AH! Dude! What the fuck!” Tucker cried out, hitting the ground in a thud while something dropped from his belt loop and landed on Wash’s chest. 

Not knowing or caring what the tubular object was, Wash grabbed it and forced himself to sit up, leering at the group. 

“Obviously I have missed something,” he stated plainly. 

“Yeah, that happens when you sleep, Agent Washington,” Caboose offered sympathetically. “It’s okay, we’ll have Andy catch you up. He’s very good at explaining things.”

“Dude, shut the fuck up, _the bomb doesn’t talk!”_ Tucker growled. 

Wash cautiously shifted his gaze between the two Blues before noticing that in the not-so-distant background, the Reds were on the move – loading up their warthog with tons of Freelancer equipment, a robotic head, and some sort of bowling ball like object that was being carried every few feet and then dropped by Donut and Simmons. 

“What the hell is going on around here?” Wash demanded. “And where’s Tex?”

“Yeesh, cut to the heart of the problem, Wash,” Tucker snapped. “Okay, so after you went to la la land, the Reds distracted O’Malley and Wyoming, letting Caboose, Tex, and me infiltrate the building to save Church. It all worked! I think. I fell into a hole and found that kickass sword you’re holding right now. Anyway, Tex and Caboose found Church but he’s still rebooting or whatever-the-fuck. Tex got pissed because the fighting stopped with no sign of O’Malley and fucked off, leaving me to dominate Blue Team – _Bow Chicka Bow Wow_ – but after she left, I actually found Doc hiding because Wyoming and some other AI fucked off without _them._ And we all made a deal so that Lopez would go back with the Reds, Doc and O’Malley would get the bomb, and you got your ass saved by us.” He took an enigmatic pause before leaning in toward Wash more. “You’re welcome.”

“You expect me to be grateful? _Tucker!_ This is the man working with the guy who literally shot me in the back!” Wash roared. 

Caboose’s head tilted and he tapped a finger against his chin. “But I thought the Red shot you, Agent Washington.” He gasped. “Does this mean Wyoming is a Red? Is that why he wants to shoot us!”

Wash hesitated after Caboose’s outburst before shaking his head. “No. I don’t mean _he_ was the one who shot me himself–”

“Really?” Tucker asked flatly. “Because you said _literally_ and that’s _literally_ what _literally_ means. You know what, Caboose? For once I’ve got your back on this. Wash needs to be pickier with his phrasing.”

“Yes,” Caboose nodded. “ _Some of us_ are confused very easily.”

“Okay, everyone _stop!”_ Wash snapped. “We’re distracting from the most important issue here!” 

“No way, dude, I already told you I have a kickass sword,” Tucker replied. Paused. Then, “If you know what I mean. _Bow chicka bow wow!”_

Smacking himself in the face, Wash let out a long, low groan. “Goddammit. This is impossible.” He then looked to the others wearily again. “While all of this is about on par with the _usual_ levels of ridiculousness you’ve all subjected me to lately, are you all _seriously_ going to tell me that you’re giving a highly dangerous, highly _explosive_ bomb to Tex’s personal worst enemy and not even question what he wants it for?”

“And just _why_ would anyone assume I would want the bomb for anything nefarious?” O’Malley’s voice chuckled from Doc’s radio. “Though I will agree, I was _quite_ surprised at how quickly we all came to agree about me taking the bomb off of your teammates’ quite incapable hands.”

“We try to live down to expectations,” Caboose shrugged. 

“Here you go, Doc!” Donut called as he and Simmons finally got the heavy, round object over to them. “Boy! I hope that thing doesn’t weigh so much because of its _explosives!_ That would have to be a literal _ton_ of them!”

“Wait!” Caboose called out. “What literally do you mean? Please tell me. I was already confused once today by _literal words.”_

Having had enough, Wash shoved himself onto his feet, swaying slightly at first but standing firm afterward. “No one is giving Doc or his _actually evil_ AI anything! Especially not a bomb!” he ordered.

Everyone looked at Wash completely perplexed.

“You can’t go back on the deal!” Doc argued. “It was fair and square! I performed a lifesaving medical procedure. The _least_ I’ve earned is a copay! I have an _oath_ to maintain!” 

“Yeah, Wash, we can’t go back on the deal,” Tucker said, as if it was stated fact.

“It’s a ridiculous deal!” Wash’s voice cracked. “Seriously, what would possess _any_ of you to accept it?”

Tucker and Caboose looked to each other then back at Washington with mixed looks of annoyance and confusion.

“Uh, _saving your life_ maybe?” Tucker snapped.

“Yeah, Agent Washington,” Caboose shrugged. “You’re on Blue Team. Same as Church!” He turned toward the jeep that Wash had drove up in and bounced excitedly. “Right, Church!?”

Wash followed the Blue’s gaze and saw the Alpha’s body slumped in one of the seats. 

“He’s still rebooting, Caboose. Leave him the fuck alone,” Tucker groaned. He then looked directly to Wash. “By the way, dude, can you give me my kickass sword back?”

“Sword?” Wash repeated before looking down to the device that he had gotten off of Tucker. He held it up curiously and shook it – nothing happened. “What are you _talking_ about?”

“Dude, it’s a magic sword, it only activates for me. Obviously,” Tucker said. “Probably means I’m the only guy who knows how to handle it. _Bow chicka bow wow–”_

“Would you stop that?” Wash demanded before offering the device back. 

“No,” Tucker answered, giddily taking the device back. “And just to show you I’m not making shit up, _check this out!”_

At first, Washington was getting ready to look away from the Blue trooper altogether and not pay Tucker’ nonsense much more mind. Suddenly, however, with a flare of light and a uniquely energetic noise, a plasma sword grew from the hilt in Tucker’s hands. 

Jumping back in surprise, Wash had to force himself to not immediately pull his gun out. “What the hell!?” he called out. “What _is_ that?”

“A sword, obviously,” Tucker beamed happily. 

Staring in shock still, Washington tilted his chin back and tried to reason what was happening. “That’s _alien technology,”_ Wash pointed out. 

“Yeah, well, I hate to point this out to you, Wash, but this wasn’t exactly a _native human planet_ once upon a time,” Tucker dismissed out of hand.

“No, you don’t understand,” Wash shook his head. “Tucker, that kind of _viable_ alien technology completely reclassifies the kind of colony planet this is. It’s no longer terraforming-class, it’s research-class. The kind of planet that would be high priority for _direct_ oversight of the UNSC, no matter what projects it was granted to before.”

When Wash finished, he looked around and found that all of the others were simply staring at him. 

“That’s a _big deal,”_ he clarified, slapping a hand over his helmet. 

“Ohhhhh,” everyone nodded. 

“Shouldn’t we be… I don’t know, _telling_ someone about this then?” Doc’s voice said before cackling and shifting octaves. “Or are we going to keep this _delicious development_ to ourselves?”

Washington stared dully at the medic before waving to him. “Seriously, you two, you don’t think it’s a _terrible_ idea that Tex’s professed archnemesis is just hanging around here and you’re _giving him her bombs?”_

Tucker shrugged. “Hey, Tex put me in charge so–”

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous,” Wash said, waving his hand. “Obviously it was a temporary appointment. _I_ am in charge, and I’m telling you all that we need to radio Tex and keep Doc under lock and key.”

“You can’t be in charge!” Tucker yelled. “You’re not even a _trooper_ like you keep reminding us.”

Caboose raised his hand. “Yes, hello? I vote to put Church in charge. As soon as he wakes up.” He then looked meaningfully toward Tucker. “And Agent Washington is, too, a Blue!”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m a Blue or not,” Wash claimed. “The fact that I’m the only one keeping my attention on our enemy right now says all that needs to be–” He stopped and looked at the spot where Doc had been standing only to find that the purple fiend had all but disappeared, bomb in tow. “What the– _Where did he go!?”_

“You were _saying_ , Mister Serious?” Tucker mocked, crossing his arms. 

Wash threw back his head and let out a long, spiteful groan.

“Okay, forget Doc for now,” Wash said finally, shaking his head. He then pointed toward the jeep. “Caboose, grab Church and carry him around until he’s up and about. If and when that happens.”

“Oh boy! Piggyback rides! Finally! It’s my turn!” Caboose cheered before racing to the vehicle. 

Tucker looked at Wash suspiciously. “What’re we doing, dude?” 

“We can’t leave Church unguarded, not with Doc and O’Malley about,” Wash said, scowling. “But you, Tucker, are taking us to where you found this sword. There’s obviously more to this place than meets the eye. And I, for once, am determined to see if any of it can be useful to us.”

* * *

Tex leered at the ship positioned in the ravine below. 

It was a clever spot to keep a ship, she’d give it that, and it was _very_ surprising that Wyoming or Omega would have somehow managed to get a hold of a ship of that quality somehow without having used it in their previous altercations.

But she tried to ignore it all in favor of putting her full attention on the motion trackers she had set up. 

Two bodies. One with a transmitting AI. 

She was so certain it was her targets she could nearly _sing_ her joy at having finally cornered them. 

All she needed was to draw them out.

Her first thought was to simply blow up the ship, and if she had taken the bomb with her rather than leave it in the hands of her rather incompetent friends, that would’ve been a possibility. Unfortunately, it _wasn’t_ the case, and instead she was stuck with her guns, her wit, and a very, _very_ heavily armored aircraft. 

There were not many scenarios that could have worked out in her favor with those circumstances. 

“If only it were a tank,” she mused.

What options she was left with were trickier, but they’d have to do. 

To _really_ get her revenge, she needed to draw the enemies out of the ship to begin with. Which was just fine by her.

Taking aim with the gatling gun she had been toting around, Tex set it up on the cliffs, then she utilized her active camouflage as she set the gatling gun up to fire at the side of the pelican.

It might not have done any real damage, but it was _certainly_ loud enough to get someone’s attention. 

Invisible, Tex dropped from the cliffs just as it began firing. The bullets bounced and ricocheted all around the small ravine – echoing so loudly that the wildlife began fleeing in droves around them. 

“What the hell is going on!?” 

The voice could barely be made out over the bullet fire, but something twisted and grew insecure deep within Tex’s circuits. 

That sure didn’t _sound_ like any of her targets…

Without warning, there was a flash of blue before her vision and Tex’s heightened reflexes were the only way she was able to brace herself against the gust that passed her by mere inches. 

“Whoa!” she called out, readying her fists before realizing that the sound of the gatling gun was no longer thick in the air. 

Confused, and mildly pissed that her distraction was so quickly gotten rid of, Tex turned on her heels to face the rocks. _Whoever_ it was she was messing with, they weren’t going to get a word in edgewise. 

“Epsilon, what’s your analysis?”

“Uh, this is fucking _weird._ That’s my analysis at the moment.”

Taken aback, Tex uncharacteristically dropped her shoulders. “Church?” she muttered at the familiar voice. 

The real shock came, however, when she looked on the rocks and saw a familiar aqua armor standing where the gatling gun had been set up. And it wasn’t _just_ the armor – it was the stature, the speed, the half-cocked shoulders and the wave of familiarity that came as Tex almost instinctively ran her bioscans. 

Losing all concentration on her accessory systems, Tex dropped her active camouflage and stood upright. “Carolina,” she marveled, her voice tight and almost broken.

She couldn’t _believe_ what was set before her. 

Almost immediately, the other former Freelancer’s attention snapped back on Tex and she brought up her shoulders. “ _You!”_ she snarled.

And if there hadn’t been enough shock in Tex’s system, a blue light flickered on over Carolina’s shoulder and revealed an AI – one that was _hauntingly_ familiar to the Alpha himself.

“Wait… Who is – wait! No! Is it? How can–” 

Church’s voice was so _clear,_ so _Church_ , but it _couldn’t_ have been him.

Especially not when he went through a rainbow of colors right before Tex’s eyes. 

Carolina flinched visibly, reaching up to her helmet. “Epsilon!” she growled. “Help me take her down! _Stop freaking out.”_

The AI stalled on the blue color again. “I-I can do that! Okay! I’m helping, I promise!”

“Don’t,” Tex called out in warning. “I _don’t_ want to fight you, Carolina. This is a mistake.”

Carolina snarled. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to fight me either. I’ve already had a hell of a day, and I’m _not_ here to play nice!” 

Before Tex could even begin to think of a way out of the situation, Carolina utilized her speed boost and lunged at Tex from the cliffs. 

The tackle was powerful and precise, hitting Tex like a ton of bricks and sending them both rolling to the ground. But, as much as she didn’t want to fight, she wasn’t about to hit and accept Carolina’s hits without some rebuke.

As soon as a roll landed Tex on her feet, she locked her arms around Carolina’s waist and used the momentum to toss Carolina over the back of her head. Carolina hit the side of the ship with a thud but quickly recovered, kicking off the ground and sending a hit for Tex’s chest. 

While Tex easily blocked the first hit, Carolina was already moving into a kick for Tex’s shoulders that was blocked with far less delicacy. The third was avoided only with a duck all together. 

Every move was faster than the last, and a parade of lights were flickering over Carolina’s shoulders without rhyme or reason.

Tex didn’t know the AI Carolina was using, but she could recognize a splintering from a mile away.

The fight needed to end quickly.

Either it was Carolina herself or the AI, maybe both, but they were unhinged. Not in sync despite desperately attempting to operate as if they were. 

It was amazing they weren’t flying off then handle as it were. 

“You are _always_ at the root of these things!” Carolina yelled with her AI. “Why can’t you go away!?”

“Because _I_ don’t want to,” Tex answered, grabbing one of Carolina’s fists, then the other. “Because I’m making my _own_ decisions for once.”

She threw her whole weight into lifting Carolina and dropping them both to the ground, earning a yell of pain from the other Freelancer. 

Having Carolina limp across her shoulders, Tex dropped her to the ground, venting her overheating body heavily. “I’m sorry, I _didn’t_ want to fight you,” she reiterated. “I found you by accident. But I _won’t_ roll over and let you stop me either.”

Carolina wasn’t moving yet, but Tex’s motion trackers were pinging. 

Grabbing her sidearm, Tex took aim at the moving person behind her and ended up pointing at a well armed woman in a wheelchair that she only faintly recognized as being someone she _should_ have known.

“Leave Carolina alone, Tex!” the woman ordered in a voice that Tex _definitely_ recalled. 

“Niner?” she asked. “What the hell is _with_ today? Is it Throwback Thursday?”

“Are you back for York? Are you the reason he’s left again?” Carolina growled, pushing up from the ground.

“What?” Tex asked, tilting her head slightly. Carolina’s nonsense apparently wasn’t just confusing to her, however, because Niner seemed confused by the question a well. “I’m not here for _anything._ I’m after Wyoming and this guy currently hosting the Omega AI.”

“Weird,” Niner said. “We picked up a signal from Wyoming not too long ago–”

“ _Your_ AI?” Carolina barked in laughter. “Trying to get it back?”

“Trying to _destroy_ it,” Tex corrected. “So excuse me for not wanting to stick around. 

“I don’t believe for one second you _actually_ want to destroy your own AI,” Carolina said viciously.

Tex huffed. “Yeah, I actually don’t give a damn _what_ you do or don’t believe.” She glanced toward Niner. “But if you have seen Wyoming’s signal that means I’m not so far off after all. So if you’ll excuse me…”

Utilizing the active camouflage again, Tex took off at full force, avoiding Niner’s bullets and the frantic way Carolina rushed the spot Tex had just been standing in. 

“No! Come back and fight me!” Carolina snarled. 

It was odd, and there was _obviously_ more going on with those two, but Tex was on a mission. So she took off and didn’t look back. 

* * *

“This sucks. And the Reds are going to get to Blood Gulch before us now. Ugh. My feet hurt now.”

Washington kept his gaze directly forward. There was a serious threat deep in his psyche of turning around and tackling Tucker just for a semblance of quiet if he did any less. So when his gaze wasn’t investigating the facilities and catching onto the subtle showings of alien ruins beneath, he carefully checked on Caboose and Church rather than to his right where Tucker was annoying the ever living shit out of him.

“Dude, what if they get our flag?” Tucker asked. 

Finally coming to a stop just outside of the main facility, Wash dropped his shoulders and yelled out, “ _Private Tucker!_ Do you _really_ feel self-important enough to continue narrating your every thought to the team?”

“So _you_ hear narrators, too…” Caboose marveled, coming to a stop by Wash’s side. 

Ignoring Caboose altogether, Tucker crossed his arms and stood in opposition to the others. “Yeah, considering I found this sword that _only_ activates for me  and it’s glowing and fucking _awesome_ so I’m probably like, I don’t know, a _Jedi_ , sure. I think me being annoyed as fuck that we’re treading around here for no reason is pretty important.”

“Tucker, finding swords in random holes does _not_ a Chosen One make,” Wash ground out irritably.

“Dude, I disagree,” Tucker snapped. “What is more special than finding a magic sword in a hole? Pulling it out of a _rock?_ Having a stupid _scar?_ Being bored on a goddamn desert world bitching about power converters? For all you know, I’ve done all three!”

Wash held up a hand. “Let me stop you right there and inform you what we’re _not_ going to do. We’re _not_ going to have another argument that involves anything resembling Harry Potter discourse again.”

“Aw,” Caboose huffed. “Donut writes Harry Potter stories very good, though!”

Tucker turned to look at Caboose. “Right? I mean, I’ve never even heard of some of those positions he describes, but it really doesn’t matter once I’m at my rock.”

“Okay, everyone shut up!” Wash yelled. “First off, your sword isn’t magic, Tucker.”

“How would you know? The ladies love how I handle my wand. _Bow chicka bow–”_

"Stop it,” Wash ordered. “It’s _not_ magical. It’s lost alien technology.”

Tucker cocked his head to the side. “Oh, yeah? Then why doesn’t it work for anyone other than me? Sounds like some pretty magical shit there to me, dude.”

“ _Lost alien technology,”_ Washington repeated through ground teeth. “Just because we’re not sure how something work doesn’t make it magical or mystic or even _special._ I bet you’ve never seen the inside of a power plant before, but it doesn’t make the engines inside of this facility anything remotely unique or special.”

Snorting, Tucker rolled his whole head with his eyes. “Whatever. I bet they _are_ super special.”

“Ggghhhkkkttteerrrr.”

Blinking, Wash almost readied himself to respond to Tucker’s insubordination when he finally looked over Caboose’s way. “Are you alright, Caboose? What was that?”

Caboose shook his hands and head. “It wasn’t me, Agent Washington. My tummy is not rumbly today. It’s not _supposed_ to be anyway.” He glanced down, letting Church drop slightly over his shoulders. “Unless you’re not telling me something, Mister Tum Tum!”

“GGRRRDDDHHKKKK–TTTKKKTKKKTKKTXXXX–”

Surprised it took him so long to realize it, Wash stepped forward. “Wait, Caboose, put Church down. The noises are him. He must be coming back online.”

“It’s about damn time!” Tucker cried out, tone belying relief as they all dropped to their knees by Church’s prone form.

Before Wash could reach out and truly check Church, however, the robot body sat up rim-rod straight, head aligning with a gut twisting abnormal click. 

“T-t-t-TEX!” he finally got out. 

Joining the others in just staring at Church, Wash tilted his head suspiciously at the AI. He didn’t know what Omega or Wyoming had done to the Alpha, but it had apparently upset Tex enough to go on a rampage after them. And if there was one thing that Wash had learned to be cautious of, it was unstable AI. 

Church’s head swiveled back and forth. “Tex? Wait. What happened!? Where am I? _When_ am I?”

“When?” Tucker repeated. “Fuck, I hope you’re here _right now!_ I’d hate to learn the Reds were right about this being the future. Because if so, the future fucking _sucks_ and we somehow managed to have even _less_ checks between our teams than we had in the past!”

Instantly annoyed at even being _reminded_ of Sarge’s theory, Wash looked up and glared at Tucker. “No. We are _not_ going through that, again.”

Church’s head turned toward Wash. “What? _Agent Washington?”_

Caboose clapped. “Look, Agent Washington! He remembers you!”

Fists clenched, Wash scowled behind his helmet. “Yeah, Caboose. And I sure as hell remember _him_ , too,” he said, tasting some of the bitterness from his tone.

“Fine, dandy,” Church growled. “But where’s Tex? I need to talk to her. See if she remembers how I managed to finally do it and stop the time loop.”

They all paused to stare at Church for a beat, then Washington glanced toward Tucker who returned the favor. 

“Right, you do that,” Wash said, getting to his feet. “Tex went after Wyoming. We’re currently checking out this facility that he and Doc were operating for O’Malley. And Tucker’s going to show me everything he’s learned about his sword.”

At once, Tucker and Church froze, looking to Wash in complete surprise. 

Wash glared back. “What? What’d I… _Oh, goddammit.”_

_“Bow chicka bow–”  
_

Wash threw his whole head back with his yell, “ _TUCKER!”_

Tucker pointed at himself innocently. “Dude, I’m not the one that had the amazing lead for that! That’s all you, good buddy.”

“It doesn’t matter, we just need to check the inside of this place,” Wash said, very nearly ready to give up on life at that point.

“What? Who says? _You?_ I don’t have to take orders from you! You’re not _my_ leader!” Church grouched, righting himself with Caboose’s aid. 

"I don’t know, Church, maybe he does,” Tucker pointed out. “What’s the rate of exchange on command for a Freelancer that turns Blue? Is it like… _staff sergeant_ or something?”

“I’m not a Blue,” Wash said at the same time Church declared, “He’s not a Blue!”

Caboose teetered on his feet. “Yeah… the yelling’s gotten… It’s gotten pretty loud, guys. There is now more yelling on Blue Team than before.”

“Yeah, maybe we should trade one of the two screamers in for a chick. At least that’s the kinda screaming I can get behind,” Tucker said a little too joyfully. “ _Bow chicka–”_

Not even waiting for Tucker to finish, Wash grabbed the back of his armor and drug him toward the door of the facility. “We’re burning daylight, now everybody get a move on what they’re doing.”

“Burning daylight–” Church sputtered. “Motherfucker, _what else is there to burn on this goddamn planet!?”_

Properly ignoring Church at that point, Wash continued dragging himself and Tucker forward, though at least for the latter he didn’t have to apply physical force much longer. 

Once inside, Tucker righted himself and casually walked beside Wash, not even _slightly_ prepared for anything to happen. His rifle was even slung over his shoulder and his sword was constantly being flipped on and off at random. Like a toddler with a flashlight.

“This army,” Wash muttered to himself.

“What’s that, Wash?” Tucker asked casually. 

Shaking his head, Wash sent Tucker an intent glare. “I’m just amazed you all have lived this long, honestly. None of the training facilities I was ever sent to were _this_ disorganized and… Well, _bad.”_

“Pfft, fuck _off,_ dude. There you go again with the condescension,” Tucker said with an exaggerated wave of his hands that had the sword slicing through the metal walls.

“It’s not – _I’m_ not… Nevermind,” he sighed and shook his head.

“Besides, I bet those other sim troopers didn’t have _this_ kickass weapon!” Tucker continued gleefully, waving his sword around Wash a little too carelessly for Wash’s comfort once more. 

“That goes without saying,” Wash replied. “But that’s also why we _need_ to talk, Tucker.” He hardened his gaze. “We don’t know anything about that sword–”

“Except that’s _awesome,”_ Tucker retorted.

“For all we know it could have belonged to something here. It could be an elaborate trap or…” Wash had _really_ thought he had more points than that. Regardless, he shook his head again and continued firmly. “This thing _could_ be dangerous. And I don’t think you should be showing it off or even carrying it around so willy nilly until we’ve figured out more.”

Silence fell between them for a moment and Tucker tilted up his chin in bewilderment.

“Wow,” he said quietly. 

Shocked, Wash tilted his head. “Are you actually taking my advice seriously?”

“Never,” Tucker replied too quickly. “I just can’t believe I’ve actually heard someone say _willy nilly._ Holy shit. What are you? Ninety?”

Wash’s expression settled for a scowl when there was a distinguishable scream in the distance. But before they could turn toward it, the Alpha projected bodily in front of them with a faint white glow. 

“Holy fucking shit!” he screamed.

“Dude, Church, what the fuck?” Tucker snapped, having jumped back from the sudden projection. 

"There’s a monster out there!” Church all but screamed at them. “It was disgusting! And loud! And–”

“Dude, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve been really improving your physique with the new upgrades,” Tucker snarked.

“ _Shut the fuck up, Tucker!”_ Church snarled. “There’s an actual, legit monster out there and it has like this unhinged mouth and teeth and–”

Almost immediately, Washington straightened up. His whole body felt numb at the description – he’d recognize it anywhere. “A sangheili!?” he yelled. 

“A what?” Church and Tucker asked in harmony.

“And you left _Caboose_ with it!? What the hell is wrong with you!?” Wash snapped. “Tucker, come on! It’s not a monster – it’s an _alien_ and we need to kill it before it hurts Caboose!”

Wash took off back down the hall, gun at the ready, heart pumping. He barely heard Tucker’s comment of, “What’s with all this _we_ stuff all of the sudden? Man, this is bullshit.”

* * *

Adjusting her search range and ignoring the frequencies she could safely qualify as Carolina and her AI’s frequencies proved only to frustrate Tex further. There wasn’t _any_ sign of O’Malley and Doc within her search range.

But she found a secondary frequency all the same.

Wyoming by himself was far different than looking for all her enemies together at once, which explained why she had honed in on Niner, Carolina, and their AI rather than Wyoming. But she knew better now.

He wasn’t doing anything particularly malicious that Tex could see from her vantage point – he was running maintenance on his armor and equipment. There seemed to be some sort of setback with him in their Sidewinder conflict so it made sense.

It also gave her a huge advantage, if only she could take advantage of it.

Readying herself, Tex got ready for the attack when, without warning, there was a loud scream at the same time the motion tackers behind her were set off. 

“Oh, give me a goddamn _break!”_ Tex snarled.

Pivoting on her foot in order to catch Caolina’s flying kick with a cross block.

As usual with the martial artist, the kick was only the start of momentum for her next kick, then for a downward throw of her elbow. All of which Tex ground her heels into the ground for and stood firm as she blocked each. 

Her reflexes were faster than ever before, her head buzzed with white noise, concentrating on the venting of her body, the output readings on her HUD, and the slow passage of time between each second – analyzing each move from Carolina and coming up with various responses through subroutines. 

It was inhuman. It was fearsome. It was faster than Carolina could hope to be without her speedboost. 

Then again, Tex was _all those things._

As the attacks continued, Tex resigned herself to not striking back, grunting out in irritation, “Carolina! I told you I’m not interested in _fighting you!_ Stop or he’s going to get away–”

When Tex looked over her shoulder, however, it was already too late. Wyoming was gone without a trace and, suddenly, she wasn’t picking him up on her scanners either – as if he had never been in range to begin with. Her own processors indicated some sort of indistinguishable interference with their readings.

"No!” Tex roared, turning her gaze back fully on Carolina. “You know what? You want to fight?” 

Breaking the block of her forearms, Tex opened herself up enough to grab Carolina’s foot in its next kick then flung her against the ground. As expected, after the first hit Carolina rolled into a landing and readied herself to lunge again.

Tex stood tall, cracking her neck. “Let’s fight.”


	47. Recovery Two XIV: Live Bait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for your support and patience! You guys are just the best. And it’s so exciting to see how far along we are! Just fourteen chapters of this monster left!!! I can’t thank you all enough for sticking with the story for this long. 
> 
> Special thanks to @freshzombiewriter, Meep, @secretlystephaniebrown, doodlingNutjob, Yin, @meteoratdusk, @analiarvb, @notatroll7, @washingtonstub, @icefrozenover, and staininspace for the feedback!

As far off from a cartographer as South might have been, she understood _tracking_ far more than she had let on. 

It was just a matter of _impatience_ that kept her from truly utilizing it in the field. Too many variables to interfere to feel justified in taking precious time to set motion trackers.

She was always thick in the fray, not far removed and swallowed up by the distance the way her brother was. 

South thought best when the action was in her face. And she could keep track of everyone when the fight was coming at her from all sides – immediate danger, immediate understanding of the stakes. 

But then again, even as they set up where she was certain the Meta would make himself apparent, South understood that her proximity didn’t always afford her the ability to see patterns that required her to pull back. 

“North,” she called as he scoped the area once again. 

For a moment, South let her brother ad Theta be – she’d gotten very good at deciphering when they were deep in conversation. Even without either of them saying anything out loud. 

Maybe it was the lessons on AI management from Freelancer finally leaking through to her by osmosis, maybe it was just living around her brother enough at that point to notice the subtle differences. Or maybe it was some residual empathy she would staunchly declare she didn’t have from having taken Theta on for a while. 

No matter which one it was, South had to interrupt it the very _moment_ she felt it drug out too long. 

“Are you two done?” she hissed at them, drawing North to look her way. “You can watch ships take off all fucking day, but we’re not on any of them until we satisfy Control, remember? So help me out or we are _seriously_ fucked right now.”

Theta projected over North’s shoulder and the two gave each other a practiced glance before North waved to South and began walking over. The AI over his shoulder disappeared in a flicker of light. 

South shook her head in annoyance as North made his way up alongside her. 

“If you two are going to lose it, I deserve to be told at _least_ in advance, alright?” she said lowly. 

“Usually _losing it_  is unplanned, so I’ll just have to do my best to keep you posted on the minute-by-minute,” North replied in a flat drawl. It was fortunate that South had grown up with the man or else she might not have recognized his monotoned sarcasm for what it was. 

“Just do your job, will ya?” she snapped. When North didn’t show any signs of further sarcasm, South pointed to the roads visible from their positions. “Okay, given we now know that the Meta seems interested in our gadgetry and AI, I figure this city is his most likely next hub. There’s plenty of equipment being shipped back and forth from PFL and the UNSC, and he’s probably going to need it after that confrontation. We also know he’s likely to use the road system since he stuck pretty neatly to it in our last encounter even if during the fight it would’ve been smart to cut and run. And while there’s plenty of ways into the city, I hedged our bets on this one since this road is the most direct route from the road system he was on before.”

Looking impressed, North crossed his arms. “Wow,” he said out loud. He nodded to her. “Almost scary how ready you are for this.”

“I used to have runs here all the time,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “The Recovery Unit needed misplaced and stolen equipment picked up, I was their soldier.”

Theta flickered on over North’s shoulder and tilted his head without saying anything. North tilted back toward him and they shared another look.

 _That,_ almost more than anything else, was beginning to drive South a little nuts. 

“What have I told both of you?” she snapped. “Either include me or don’t whisper like little girls. Now what is it?”

“Well, it just seems odd that _so much_ of the equipment Freelancer was concerned with would be missing,” North pointed out. “Did they ever explain how it was stolen?”

“Usually wasn’t my business,” South replied candidly.

“Just seems really silly to go through the trouble for stuff you can’t run,” Theta added, his sprite rubbing his shoulder almost nervously. “I mean, you need an AI for that kinda stuff.”

“Sure, which is why fried fragments were usually with them,” South shrugged. “The things would short circuit before they were of any _real_ use, but the _real_ question is how they managed to get a hold of _those_ things.”

At once, North and Theta looked to each other then back. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” North said lowly. “They taught us that there was a finite number of AI available to the program. Even if they were only fragments.” He paused then glanced to the AI on his shoulder. “No offense to present fragments.”

“It’s okay, you’re totally right,” Theta nodded. “There’s no way the program would have misplaced equipment _and_ short lived fragments on that big of a scale. And all in one area?”

South absorbed the information, her arms crossed and fingers digging into her biceps. 

The answers had been right in front of her all along.

“Motherfuckers,” she muttered, turning on her heels back for the ship. “North, grab all our stuff.”

“What? Why?” North asked, genuinely bewildered. 

“Because I just figured out what Recovery had been doing all along,” she said, teeth grinding in fury. “It was never about equipment or agents or _anything._ It was about _bait._ It was about distracting Maine. And I think I just figured out who they were distracting him from!”

* * *

North was supposed to simply trust his sister’s leadership. He _knew_ that. He knew that if their partnership was going to do anything more than crash and burn – _especially_ with his edge beginning to show the signs of fraying that it was – then he had to keep with that simple rule.

 _South_ was in charge. _South_ made the calls. And North had to accept that as absolute truth.

But pulling out early from yet another plan, especially when South was the one making such a point of not further messing up the deal between them and Control – it didn’t bode well.

Something was wrong. 

“Where are we going?” North asked, stepping onto the ship behind his sister and watching how she quickly unraveled all their morning’s progress. “South, what are we doing here?”

“We’re not going anywhere, and we’re not _doing_ anything that requires jammers or competitive signals,” South announced, manually powering down the ship. 

Theta flickered on over North’s shoulder and shrugged at him for effect. 

“Okay,” North said apprehensively. “This have something to do with your Recovery Agent knowledge? Did you figure it out?”

“Yes,” she said, turning on her heels and staring directly at North “Is Theta transmitting a signal? Something that could be traced?”

“Shouldn’t be,” North said, crossing his arms and glancing toward the tiny AI who vehemently shook his head. 

“I’ve got it under control!” Theta assured them. “I haven’t even been making fireworks – just in case!”

Crossing her arms, South shook her head. “Then start dropping them again, Kid.”

For a moment, North and Theta looked at South in silence. Alarm was sparking in the back of North’s head, Theta’s erratic pulse growing stronger in fear and concern over the directive. And, for once, North truly felt it was deserved. 

“What are you talking about?” North asked skeptically, looking his sister over as if something physically could clear things up. 

“I’m talking about putting a signal out there – an _AI signal_  like the ones I had to trace for my time as a Recovery Agent,” she informed them. “You’re both right, there was something never quite right about the setup and the burnout fragments. I never had the full picture until now – never had a reason to look for it.”

He wasn’t completely following but, given the unease between them as the moment carried on, North wasn’t so certain he _wanted_ to follow what his sister was getting at completely.  “What were they doing with the AI fragments then?” he asked all the same.

“Distractions,” South said assuredly. “They were drawing Maine toward them. You’re right – there’s no way that many fragments could get out of hand without causing a huge stir. It was almost suicide for us to break into Recovery Command on the _down low,_ and that was without Recovery Agents like myself and Wash living there anymore. These things were a _plant._ Drawing this _thing_ that Maine’s become.”

“But _why?”_ Theta couldn’t help but demand. “Why would they want to do that to fragments?”

“Because they didn’t think those pieces – the kind that would burnout so quickly in someone’s implants – were good for anything else,” South said, growing into a frenzy at her own realizations. “Goddamn, those chumps had no idea how short term that _so-called ‘official’_ equipment were!”

“But what were they drawing them to?” North pressed.

“Not _to,_ exactly, North. _From,”_ South corrected. “Always highly populated areas? Always around equipment storage units and laboratories. And they only ever had me retrieving them when things were picking up and there were plenty of military police around. As if someone _important_ was in the area.”

North tilted his head. “Are you saying…”

“They only wanted me to clean up when the facility was being used by Maine’s _real_ target at the end of the day,” South announced. “When the _Director himself_ was around. And they didn’t want any unexpected and unruly guests so I had to get rid of anything that would have gotten the big guy’s attention. I was the Director’s personal pickup crew and I never even knew it!”

Theta nervously rung his hands together. 

“Okay, that sounds plausible,” North agreed. “But it doesn’t explain why you want _Theta_ to be transmitting a signal now. I would _think_ that you would be wanting the opposite.”

“Not if we want to catch the son of a bitch, North,” South said firmly. “Which we _do_ because that’s the only way we’re going to make Control happy at this point.”

Eyes narrowed, North put his hands on his hips. “You want to use Theta as live bait?” he demanded. “Absolutely not. Look, I’m on your team, I’m still Mister Team Player, and I won’t question nearly _anything_ else you would ask of me but–”

"I’m not asking it of you,” South interrupted. Then, for the first time since they started talking, South turned her gaze directly to Theta instead. 

Theta shifted his image, sprite’s head dropping. The anxiety from the AI began gnawing at the back of North’s head again. 

“You can’t ask that of him,” North said darkly. “That’s not fair.”

“It _is_ fair, North,” South snapped. “Goddammit, _why_ are you like this? Other people can make the decisions that are best for them. You’ve _got_ to let this control go. I respect that you keep every iota of your being kept under lock and key, but you _can’t_ do it for everyone else, too.”

“I don’t!” North shot back. “I’m trying, South. I’m _trying_ to let you do whatever you need to! But Theta–”

“Can make his own decisions, too,” Theta spoke up, surprising both of the twins into looking his way. “I-I can, North.”

Stunned into silence, North shifted his weight and turned directly to his AI’s projection. “You don’t have to do this, Theta. You don’t have anything to prove,” North said lowly. “And we saw what… what this _thing_ was capable of. What it did to Delta.”

“I know,” Theta said. “That’s why we’ve _got_ to catch him. We’ve gotta stop him.” He glanced toward South. “Right?”

She nodded once. “Right,” she replied. 

Pressing his lips together, North held back the flood of oppositions he had prepared for this _really bad_ idea. He knew he was outnumbered. 

“Okay,” he said lowly. “What are we deciding?”

Theta stood firm. “I’m already transmitting.”

North held in the expletives as if Theta didn’t have full access to them inside his skull. He held them in because as bad as the idea was, it wasn’t going to work if they weren’t keeping it together. 

There was fear and anxiety rushing through his head, but for once North didn’t have to question how much of it was his own. Because his heart was beating in rhythm, his breath controlled and neutral. 

For North, he was finally accepting that things were going to work out exactly how they were meant to be. Even if it wasn’t the way he wanted them to be. 

* * *

The plan had to work or South had just gotten them all killed. 

She knew that, she knew it the moment the thought first came to her mind because _instantly_ she wanted to outright reject the notion _herself._ Before bringing it up to North and Theta, _before_ putting them all in danger.

Contrary to the Counselor and the Director and the whole of goddamn Freelancer, South was never a foolish or stupid agent. And she’d never needed to be reminded of her limitations. 

But the constant need to prove that _her_ limitations and the limitations they all had come to impose on her were _devastatingly_ different had never stopped pressing. 

And, suddenly, proving that very fact could very well have meant the difference between life and death for herself and her brother. 

So South maintained her calm front, but inside she was a torrent of apprehension and emotion. 

Death very well could have been imminent. And as the moments toward it were counting down, South was hoping that she was making the decision because it truly was the only one she could make with Hargrove holding the trigger to her rather than it being a final stroke of her ego. 

 _Hoping,_ in the face of destruction, certainly didn’t feel like enough. 

From the west facing bow of the ship, South watched the roads meticulously. 

It had been nearly a half an hour since Theta began projecting his signal openly for Maine – the _Meta,_ she tried to remind herself staunchly again – and she had not seen more than the occasional UNSC vehicle pass by. 

Impatient and bored, South reached for her radio. 

“See anything yet?” she asked. 

“You’d be the first to know when we would,” North drawled out. It was the sort of voice that to others would seem sarcastic, but for South, well, she knew her twin well enough to hear _pouting._

Leaning back against the ship, South let out a long sigh of annoyance herself. “North, Theta and I didn’t plan this behind your back or anything ridiculous like that. This is just the most straight forward plan and was–”

“Your call,” North said lowly. “I understand.”

“It was _Theta’s_ decision ultimately,” South corrected. “Just assure me you’re _in_ with us. And I mean _all_ in. I know there’s a ton going on in that head of yours…”

South barely got through the statement before noticing that she had an incoming hail. Which was all well and good since North still hadn’t made any moves to answer her.

“Hold that thought, Big Guy,” she joked before switching off North’s frequency and answering the other. 

Control’s synthetic, monotonous voice was unmistakable. “Agent South, we are requesting your status report.”

“Busy?” she replied, voice tipped mostly in annoyance. “We figured out a guaranteed way to get the Meta’s attention and we’re acting on it now. Should have results for you _very_ soon, Sir.”

“Very good,” Control said lowly. “We are pinpointing your location and sending the coordinates to your competitors.”

“What!?” South cried out. “That’s not… You told us this is a _competition,_ Sir. It’s not much of one if you are giving them _our_ goddamn lead!”

“Careful with your accusations, Agent,” Control said in a tone that could be nothing short of dangerous warning. “As for the competition, I find that you have made so much progress with actual _risk_  involved, that this additional challenge can only strengthen your current resolve.”

South’s nose curled with her snarl. “You’re _just_ like the Director,” she muttered, so low it was hardly a whisper. 

“What was that, Agent South Dakota?” Control asked sharply.

Before South could fully rethink he attitude, a loud ping alarmed her and overrode her armor so as to allow its signal to come through. And, sure enough, it was the familiar tiny AI who showed up on her HUD.

“South, he’s here! We spotted him! I’m turning off my open channel for now but North needs to know what we’re going to do!”

Alarmed that everything was happening at once, South hesitated before glancing toward to the side of her HUD where Control’s beacon was still it up. 

With a new resolve, South loaded her sidearms up. 

“Tell North we’re _doing this,”_ she ordered the AI. Then to Control, she stiffened up and glared toward the beacon. “I’ll contact you once we have your _assets,_ Sir.”

She then manually shut down Control’s feed.


	48. Recovery Zero XV: Old Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I can’t apologize enough for how long it’s taking me to update these last few months, guys. Of course, like I warned, I’m deep into the school semester and have about an exam to three every week, so it’s tremendously cut down on my writing time. So I sincerely hope that this has been worth the wait. I can’t thank all of you who have been so patient and kind in the meantime <3 It means the world. 
> 
> Special thanks to @analiarvb, @icefrozenover, @washingtonstub, @notatroll7, @freshzombiewriter, @secretlystephaniebrown, staininspace, Yin, and doodlingNutjob for the feedback!

Blood roared through her veins, sparked with the sort of enthusiasm and control that she hadn’t felt since before everything fell apart. The sort of _liveliness_ that defined her banter and zest for leadership back when being on the Mother of Invention and being a part of Project Freelancer was still supposed to mean something to her. 

Even hunting and scouring for her two pronged vengeance had not filled Carolina’s heart with the sort of frenetic energy it felt then and there. 

The energy she felt, the in-tune nature of the way she stayed light on her soles and squared with the black armored agent in front of her, was like something out of her dreams. 

Everything had fallen apart around her, _again,_ and conveniently Carolina found herself face to face with _Texas._ Which she knew down to her very soul had to be more than a coincidence. 

The Director, Texas – that connection had always been so close, so blindingly favoritism. And on Carolina’s quest to find him once and for all – just when York left her high and dry and Carolina herself felt too drained to imagine trying to stop him, to convince him to stay, she came across _Texas._

Well, if that was the way the game was going to be played…

“You made a _poor_ decision today, Carolina,” Tex snapped, cracking her neck with the sort of smug confidence that made the red-head’s blood boil.

“No, _you_ did! When you showed you were involved with this!” Carolina snapped back. “I’m going after him, Tex, and no one – not you, not _anyone_ they can throw at me – is going to get in my way now. I’ve already made the choice to stay my course.”

Slowly, Tex dropped the eased back facade. Though her armor was stiff and expressionless, Carolina did not miss the way Tex’s shoulders dropped and her head tilted back in attention. Her fists curled and she stood at the ready – like she was holding back from launching a punch then and there. 

“Who exactly are we talking about?” she demanded, voice nearly a hiss.

“You _know_ who,” Carolina accused. 

“Try me,” Tex said. “Because if I’m going to open up this can of whoop-ass you’re asking for, I need to make sure whether or not you’re walking away when I’m done, or _crawling.”_

Bristling, Carolina stepped forward and spat, “You’re so full of shit!”

“Answer me!” Tex barked. “Who’re you after?”

“The Director!” Carolina snapped. “Of course the Director – you’ll have to kill me if you want to stop me–”

Immediately Tex eased up and snorted. “Oh, you’re definitely going to walk away from this one then. False alarm. And here I was getting ready to _seriously_ hurt you–”

The words were hardly out when Carolina struck out first. 

Her speed was completely her own – no speedboost, no augmentation. She could feel the lunge through her legs, her bad knee, but it was almost rejuvenating in its own way. And though the three sequential kicks were ultimately blocked by a deft hand from Tex, Carolina could see the flawlessness in her own strikes. 

As her own worst critic, Carolina knew that the placements felts _just_ right was only a good thing – something to feed into her already growing fire. 

By the time Tex was shoving Carolina with one of her blocks, Carolina was prepared to make distance between them either way. She flipped backwards, barely having her fingers on the ground before already righting herself and steadying for any attack. 

Tex didn’t immediately follow through. Which was _definitely_ her loss.

They stood opposite one another and Texas had the nerve to look _annoyed_ before going invisible right before Carolina’s eyes.

She blinked and then Carolina felt her anger grow to an unprecedented level. 

“She’s using her enhancements to get an edge. Can’t take a fair fight,” Carolina sneered. 

“Or I’m done and waiting for you to go away so I can get along with my _actual_ business,” Tex’s voice said with extreme close proximity. “But you know what? Now you’ve actually got me pissed. So. _Here_ I am.”

Carolina didn’t wait for the strike before turning on her heel and lashing out with her first kick. It didn’t make its mark and Carolina found herself actually stunned with the miscalculation. 

To add insult to injury, Tex tapped on her shoulder before delivering a thunderous punch that, if she hadn’t known better, Carolina would have _sworn_ she could feel vibrate her inside her armor from head to toe. 

Caving to the furious blow, Carolina flew back into the rock facing, wind knocked from her chest. 

“Amazing all the exogenous uses of these voice filters when you really look into their codes, huh?” Tex teased as she dropped her active camouflage and waved at Carolina. “Man, I needed an opponent who I could actually hit. So, thanks for this, Carolina. And more than that, it’s nice to see that everyone’s deaths lately have been a bit exaggerated.”

Grinding her teeth, Carolina snarled and pushed up despite her protesting limbs. If Tex wasn’t going to make it a fair fight between them, then Carolina didn’t feel the obligation to either. 

“Epsilon,” she gritted out. “You’ve been silent this whole time, and while that’s not the _worst_ thing you could be doing right now, it’s not what I need from you.”

The Ai’s pulsing in the back of her mind was still erratic, clumsy. There didn’t seem to be much pattern to it as he went from frantic to perplexed to conflicted and then on through another cavalcade of emotions that Carolina honestly felt she couldn’t afford at the time. 

“Epsilon,” she snapped, knowing she would have to act without him soon enough. 

 _I know her,_ was all the AI dared to think between the two of them. 

There was a haunted lilt to his voice. Almost like he meant the words as a warning. Like there was something _painful_ and _wrong_ to them that Epsilon couldn’t quite convey for himself, let alone for Carolina. 

“Yeah, well I know her, too,” Carolina said crossly. “Concentrate on that – All you need to know about her’s up there in my brain. Feel free to it. Guarantee it’ll make us punching her a lot more satisfying.”

Not a single bit of the AI seemed convinced by the offer.

_But I think I know her–_

Aggravated, Carolina looked to the empty shoulder Epsilon preferred to project on. “You _think_ you know her, Epsilon, and maybe you’ve got some data that does recognize her. Some stats – I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, though. It doesn’t matter because you _do_ know me. And it has nothing to do with programming or stats or anything. It’s because you’re a part of me right now, and you have been since I busted you out of Freelancer. And right now I need your help. And I need you to focus on that because… because I’ve not had anyone else I could trust today prove worth the trust to begin with.” 

There was a heavy ache in her mind that was not her own, like she might have actually felt Epsilon _moved_ by her own rhetoric. 

But he hadn’t answered. 

“Epsilon, _please,”_ Carolina said. “I need _someone_ in my corner today. Dammit. Not someone. I need _you._ You’re the only one with me on the same page as me.”

Just as her heart twisted in her chest, Carolina was surprised by a flicker of pale blue light over her shoulder. Epsilon’s sprite appeared, steadfast and nodding. 

“Let’s do this, Cee,” he said. 

As if to punctuate the level of control he was feeling or perhaps to prove his willingness to assist her, he activated the adaptive camouflage and made them a steel gray. 

Tex seemed to flinch across the distance, her attention on the AI almost inexplicably. “Is that–”

 _Speedboost is a go!_ Epsilon informed Carolina just moments before she pushed her feet against the ground. 

Without Epsilon, the speedboost was a series of _stop and go_ , taking moments in between, having to turn off completely to make turns that wouldn’t spin her out of control and having to account for her residual momentum all the same. 

It was doable – _very_ doable, of course – but with Epsilon, like it had been on the bridge before everything went to hell and proved to be a disaster, it was more equipped. It was faster, but it was also more calculated. Controlled. 

Her velocity was never more than a sudden turn or attack could handle. He was able to inactivate then reactivate the boost within seconds, giving Carolina boosts into turns and leaps and kicks like she would have never been capable of before. 

They were never more of a team than they were in that moment, and the speed and ferocity of their attack nearly took Tex by surprise.

Nearly.

The black armored soldier was struck only once even in Carolina’s barrage of hits and movement. And that one hit apparently was _far_ more than Tex was willing to let abide. 

“Alright, that’s it!” she snarled. 

With reflexes Carolina and Epsilon both became immediately alarmed to, Tex almost predicted their next strike, countered it, grabbed Carolina’s wrist and had her flipped and on her back within the span of a breath. 

Dazed and breathless once again, it took Carolina a moment to realize that Tex was near her face, her HUD lit up so brightly with various readouts that the faint glow was visible even from Carolina’s side. 

“What the–” Carolina snarled.

“I’m checking something,” Tex said. She then went stiff and backed away, surprised. “Fucking– You _implanted Epsilon?_ What the hell is wrong with you? Do you have any idea what he did to Washington–”

As ready as the retort was on her tongue, Carolina found herself feeling choked. _Panic_ had unleashed itself through her body like she had never felt before – alarm, danger, _pain_ , fear – it exploded from behind her eyes and sent her arching back in an alarmed scream.

 _WASHINGTON!_ Epsilon roared.

The roar tore through the core of her mind and since Carolina flailing back. It was painful – like an explosion that kept rippling through the synapses. There were so many emotions and just an _overwhelming_ sense of danger.

And for that moment, Epsilon was in charge – _Epsilon_ held the reigns and it was easily the most terrifying sensation that Carolina had ever felt in her life. 

Seemingly, Epsilon was not aware of the level of his persuasion and he continued to thrash and panic in her mind, looking and clawing for a way out of the memory that _Washington_ had brought to her. 

“Carolina?” Tex’s voice broke through the ringing panic.

That voice was heavy with emotion itself. Confusion, pity – and _god_ did the pity make Carolina want to kick and punch and thrash with everything in her. How _dare_ the enemy sound so caring and concerned – how _dare_ she think so pathetically of Carolina. 

Regaining some semblance of control of her stinging limbs, Carolina managed to grab the sidearm on her right, ignore the splitting headache, and take aim right for Tex’s helmet.

Texas had the gall to not so much as flinch. 

“Get away,” Carolina ordered coldly.

_Don’t leave. Don’t leave me. Please I need you. You’re part of me. I don’t know what to do with these pieces._

Tilting her head, Tex just hummed. “You’re the one that came after me. The only thing I want is _Wyoming_ and the Omega AI–”

_Omega. I know him. He’s scary. He’s not scary. He’s part of me. I need to keep him away. I need a new one. I need to embrace all the pieces._

Her head throbbing, Carolina wavered her head, but her trained hand was steady. “And I’m telling you that I don’t believe that–”

“Frankly, Carolina, I don’t care what you believe or don’t because until about forty minutes ago, I was under the impression you were dead,” Tex snapped. “Again, happy to be wrong. But I take the right to be a tad bit suspicious. Especially since you’ve got a broken AI–”

_I’m not broken. I’m breaking. The pieces – I should just let them be… I miss Delta. Delta’s right here._

“He’s fine,” Carolina lied through her teeth. “More fine than you’re going to be when I’m done with–”

Tex hadn’t been really waiting for anything other than an opening and the moment she had it, she took it. 

The tackle sent them both hurdling toward the ground and Carolina’s normally pristine reaction time was utterly useless when set against the constant cacophony that Epsilon had begun to create in her head. 

“Keep it together!” she screamed, though even as it ripped through her throat she had no idea if the call was for herself or for her troubled AI. 

_I-I-I c-c-c-can’t–_

Sitting on top of her, Tex drew back for another crushing punch. “Stay down!” she began to yell.

Carolina was more than determined to not stick with the order when everything came to a resounding halt. She barely even processed what for, the ringing still loud in her ears, but Epsilon – seemingly shocked back into coherence – whispered the answer for her. 

_Gunshot._

Together, Carolina and Tex looked to the side and saw for themselves the very annoyed, very _done_ image of Niner in her chair, holding a gun over her head that had been fired. 

To say the pilot looked unamused was to put things _mildly._

“Just what the fuck is going on here?” she demanded. But Niner wasn’t interested in the answer since she was already making an answer before they had the chance. “Sounds like there’s two, petty, inconsiderate assholes who are trying to give me an even _shorter_ life expectancy than being on the run already has.” She pointed angrily behind her. “Get the fuck in my ship and talk this out. _No excuses.”_

Stunned, both former Freelancers just looked at the pilot.

“But–” Carolina began.

“Did I _stutter!?”_ Niner demanded, putting her gun in her lap and quickly turning her chair around to lead the charge. Her head shook as she muttered to herself.

After a moment of shared bewilderment, Tex got to her feet first and stated off after Niner. She let out a low but approving huff and shook her head. 

“Always liked her,” Tex surmised before having the gall to reach toward Carolina with an open hand. 

_Take it Take it Take it Take–_

Carolina all but shoved herself to her feet, brushing the offered hand off with her shoulder before stalking toward Niner. She wasn’t even sure what, other than the intimidation factor the pilot had perfected in dealing with Freelancers over the years, was possessing her to do so, but she knew that with the splitting headache Epsilon had managed to give her, their match was a draw.

And that burned Carolina up inside more than she could ever dare tell. 

* * *

There was an absence where a hum once stimulated and warmed parts of his brain that, just years ago, he wouldn’t have considered even _having_ feeling. 

It was absent and cold and numb, a lot like the feeling in his bones and chest after he made the choice to leave.

No, that wasn’t right.

York didn’t have a choice in leaving her – in abandoning Carolina just like she accused him of doing before, of leaving her out to dry the way she had him. He didn’t have a choice because he wasn’t left with one.

Not really. There weren’t any choices when Carolina had already made up her mind.

Revenge was more important than surviving to her. Surviving had been the one thing Delta felt was worth dying for. 

There wasn’t a hum there in York’s head anymore. It was quiet and nauseating and disorienting even as instinct kept his hands steady on the steering wheel of his stolen ATV. And there wasn’t a hum anymore because York, who didn’t give even close to a damn about revenge, had chosen _Carolina_ over Delta’s logical survival. 

There were a lot of sins that he could live with in the aftermath of learning that Freelancer was nothing more than a pretty lie, but he couldn’t live with being responsible for killing the people he _lived_ for. Couldn’t live with surviving when _Delta_ was the one who wanted survival, or with watching Carolina’s callous self-destruction and disregard go on a second more.

His head was quiet, but York knew it wasn’t empty. 

The imprint – like a guiding hand – was left etched into his memory. A ghost of Delta that had endless facts and figures, plans and counter plans, the maps to various shipping ports across the planet and the docking schedules.

Delta thought of everything. And York only had to numbly live out his final request.

Defeated, broken, numb, and _cold_ , York was finally leaving the rock he had stayed on for over a year for the people who he couldn’t save at the end of the day.

He came to a stop outside of the border patrol for the facility and leaned heavily against the steering of the vehicle. His body ached beyond the emotional and mental damage – his injuries from the encounter with this Meta had done a number on him. Even a healing unit couldn’t fully correct all the damage patterning his body. 

After a moment and deciding that the ache of his joints wasn’t going anywhere fast, York looked around and made his move.

Infiltration was second nature to him, and even as inhibited as he was he made quick work of getting around the security gates and past guards until he found what looked like a break room. 

It took, at most, fifteen minutes to do the one thing he refused for months – _years –_ to do for his best friend, for the voice in his head. 

The thought made York lean against the wall, a little sick to his stomach like it was tied in knots.

As it passed – or rather, as York accepted it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon – he reached for the lockers and began mindlessly picking them. 

He would need some civilian clothes, an ID card just in case. 

The plan was to stow in the storage of the next shipment, but ht needed to plan a few steps ahead, be ready for confrontation if it should happen. And in his condition there was no way he was going to take out an entire ship. Only about half of it – if he was being favorable to his own odds.

Gathering what he needed, York readied to change out of his armor. There was bound to be an incinerator nearby for garbage – the damaged armor from Freelancer would join the rubbish, and what didn’t get burned up wouldn’t be discovered until York was long gone. 

Even still, he had to cover his tracks. 

York pulled up on his HUD for his files and programs to be wiped – burn out everything that could add to his already fairly measurable trail – when he noticed a file that had never been there before.

A medium sized file – a video file – one titled READ YORK. 

“The hell,” he muttered, pausing. 

For a moment, York readied to delete everything all the same – to not even bother. But there was something – not a hum, but just a gentle thought buried deep in the confides of his numbed mind – that pressed him to examine the file. To just _look._

Reluctantly, and more than a little cautiously, York opened the file, and immediately felt his voice catch in his throat at the projection before his very eyes.

_“Dee?”_

* * *

Carolina nursed her headache with a low, animalistic growl. 

Epsilon had slowly cooled the chanting and back-and-forth talk to himself in the echo chamber he had made from her brain, but it still wasn’t a _great_ feeling in her head at the moment. 

And it was made all the worse every time she looked up to see not only Tex was in their ship but that Niner was still between them with a Glock in her lap and fingers tapping angrily on the wheels of her chair. 

“Do I have to continue playing babysitter or can we talk this out?” Niner demanded haughtily.

“Give me a minute,” Carolina demanded, still holding a hand to her visor as Epsilon sorted himself out. 

“Only if you use that minute to eject the AI,” Tex snapped almost readily. 

“You know what, Tex–” Carolina began only for a flinch to come through her body.

 _Why doesn’t she like me?_ Epsilon asked – really, almost _whined._

Annoyed, Carolina smacked the side of her helmet. “Hell if I know, but I can tell you why _I’m_ starting to not like you–”

Looking overtly concerned, Niner balanced her elbows on her armrests and leaned forward, a scowl heavy on her face. “Carolina, maybe Tex has a point about giving Epsilon a rest while we discuss things.”

“Yeah, and that point is to give _herself_ the advantage here right now,” Carolina snapped in return. “Epsilon is staying exactly where he belongs. With me. He’s my AI. He’s…” She paused and turned her gaze more fully on Texas. Her arms dropped to her sides. “He’s my partner.” 

The black clad former Freelancer seemed less than impressed as she put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. “Sure. Whatever,” she replied. 

“God _damn_ what do I have to do here to get this train moving forward and past this dick measuring contest bullshit?” Niner snapped. She pointed at Carolina. “Epsilon, if you’re stable, let us know or I’m going to rip you out of my girl myself, got it?”

Carolina shifted under the weight of the threat herself, but even without prompting Epsilon made himself apparent over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said lowly over Carolina’s speakers. “It’s… It’s been a lot to take in lately.”

Carolina almost prepared a witty retort to the claim, but it caught in her throat. Instead she was staring at Texas and seeing the strange, almost withdrawn way she half turned from Epsilon’s projection. 

Something about the AI was unsettling to her, and it was beyond the level of whatever discomfort others felt due to his history. 

And considering the rumbling that Epsilon was giving off deep in her mind, Carolina knew he had noticed the reaction, too. 

“You got a problem, Texas?” Carolina asked, ruffled. 

“No one better have a problem here,” Niner declared, shaking her head fiercely. “Is no one listening to me? I’m done with problems. _No more problems._ We’re in a problem free zone. We’re talking this out like goddamn adults, ladies.”

Drawing back, Carolina gritted her teeth. She couldn’t come up with anything less inflammatory to say to Tex at the moment and Epsilon was basically dead in the water. 

Which caused them both to be surprised by Tex breaking the ice. 

“You mentioned York,” Tex said. “He’s been looking for you. Never stopped looking for you – even when we learned that you were supposed to have died. I’m glad to hear you two found each other.”

A near hysteric laugh ripped itself from Carolina’s throat without her approval. “Are you serious right now!?” she demanded.

“Lina, she doesn’t know,” Niner attempted to play peacemaker despite herself. She then glanced toward Tex. “We just separated. We had been traveling together but… York needed to leave. Our… plans weren’t aligned anymore. He needed to leave.”

Tex shifted, arms crossed and hip leaned against the wall of the ship. She didn’t seem impressed with the answer. “Considering York, I find that pretty hard to believe.”

“You know, Tex, I don’t really give a damn what’s hard or not hard for you to believe,” Carolina snapped. “Though I guess the two of you were such _big friends_ you think you’d know how he thinks–”

“I just know that he’d have wanted to stay with you unless I’m missing a chunk of the story,” Tex shrugged. 

“It’s a chunk you don’t have the right to,” Carolina spat.

“Fine, I’m not interested,” Tex growled.

“Good!” Carolina snapped. 

“Goddammit, _change the subject!”_ Niner snapped. “You’re both stubborn bitches on a quest to hunt someone down, right? Got that in common. How about we start there.”

Epsilon, still panicky and confused, whispered the one question that Carolina felt to her own core – felt to the point that she couldn’t help but give it voice. 

“You said you weren’t going to interfere with us going after the Director?” she demanded.

“Far from it,” Tex replied. “I fully support the idea. It’s just not my objective at the moment.”

And _that_ was an interesting point on its own. Carolina cataloged it away for later – just what were Tex’s own intentions with the Director. And whether or not Carolina would ever allow it under her watch. 

“You’re after Wyoming,” Carolina continued the quasi-interrogation. “Why?”

“Because he’s a son of a bitch, that’s why,” Tex snapped.

“That’s not good enough for me to drop my guard around you, Tex. Not after the part you played in taking everything down,” Carolina spat at her. “I need specifics. Make me _believe_ that’s really what you’re after.”

“He tried to kill my friends,” Tex snapped. “And he got a good shot on Wash, so Wash is counting on me to bring a bit of justice, too.”

A splitting headache erupted from the back of Carolina’s head. It was so strong and so powerful that she wavered on her stance. She could tell that Tex noticed and moved forward slightly, as if to catch her, but Carolina caught herself on the siding of the ship and shot a warning look.

Niner uncharacteristically seemed to not notice the near collapse. 

“Wash!? You’ve been in contact with Wash!?” she asked, hopeful and skeptical all at once in that way that only Niner could really manage.

“He’s part of my team,” Tex clarified. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Niner scoffed. 

_I’m supposed to help Washington – you’re supposed to help Washington, too. Why don’t we ever help Washington? Why don’t we help the people who we’re supposed to._

Gritting her teeth, Carolina shook her head. “Epsilon!”

His projection flickered over her shoulder a few times before solidifying again. It was a weak light, but it was whole again. “Sorry, sorry,” he muttered. 

A compulsion from deep inside Carolina’s core revealed itself. And nearly before she could catch herself, she looked up to Tex and scowled. “How can we help with Wyoming?”

She didn’t miss how surprised both Tex and Niner looked her way. 

* * *

“How’s this possible?” he asked, the image before him still not completely processing. 

But his eye was not deceiving him, and reaching forward, his fingers filtered through the bright green projection as usual, disrupting the image. It was Delta – his friend, his partner, his–

“Please desist from disrupting my projected sprite, York. It is entirely unhelpful,” Delta assured him. 

“Sorry,” York said, withdrawing his hand immediately. He then shook from head to toe and grabbed at his head. A laugh of relief burst from his throat and he waited for that familiar hum in the back of his mind to start up but–

But there was no hum. And, immediately, York’s glee and relief began to dissipate.

Somehow, things were still wrong.

“As you have no doubt come to realize, I am _not_ fully the AI designated as Delta,” his voice droned. “Rather, I am a recording left for you to find in the event that ejection from your AI implants proved successful and allowed for your escape from the Meta.”

York squinted at the projection. “But how did you know I was going to–”

“Through logic, I have assumed the most likely course of actions you would take, York, and have so given this file properly timed responses,” it continued.

“That seems far fetched,” York glowered.

“It is not, I assure you,” the recording defended. “After all, no one would know your mind as well as I did.”

Head spinning a bit, York plopped onto the ground and held onto his forehead. “That’s a lot to take in. And is a bit shitty to do to a friend – all of this is shitty to do to a friend.” He scowled and looked at the Delta recording. There was something blurring his vision as he stared. “You left me alone”

Delta’s pause lasted a few more beats, apparently prepared for a much longer outburst, or maybe Delta really _did_ know him well enough, and was waiting for the Freelancer to clear his vision and catch his breath. 

“I was taught by my partner that sacrifices were sometimes worthwhile, that sometimes sacrifices and being willing to make sacrifices for something or someone is the epitome of living,” Delta explained. “I was also taught by this partner that _surviving_ was not the same as _living._ And he made me understand that, even while he struggled with the truth of it himself.”

York looked at the projection. “Sounds like you got bad advice from some idiot.”

"The advice was from _you,_ York.”

Unflinching, York leaned toward the projection, craving that familiar hum in his mind again. “I need you, Dee. I can’t hardly _think_ without you. Why did you– Why couldn’t you let me die out there? If you’re so damn smart, if you have everything already figured out… Why didn’t you know that I was always going to get us in such big trouble? Why couldn’t you stop me from making all those mistakes – all those choices.”

“Because our choices, our mistakes, our _illogic…”_ Delta said calmly, almost patiently. “It is what makes us human, York. And while I cannot be human in many ways, in all the ways that truly mattered – because of _you –_ I _was_ human. And I am grateful to you for that honor. It is why you are worthy of any sacrifice, of any price. Because you are my friend, my partner, through all of our joined flaws and mistakes. And you taught me that even those who make mistakes deserve a second chance. And they deserve the sacrifice – if they help us bridge the line between _surviving_ and _living._ ”

York blinked, mouth slightly ajar. For once in his life he was speechless, his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Your next step is important, York,” Delta continued. “You will be deciding between surviving and living. And I hope that you take the route you taught _me_ that was worth it.”

With that, Delta disappeared.

For a moment, York instinctively reached for the empty space where the recording had been, but his hand withdrew and he brought it to his chest. 

The difference between surviving and living. 

Slowly, York recalled the code that Carolina had given him what felt like ages ago, and sure enough a beacon – her beacon – appeared in his sights. 

He watched it carefully, quietly. 

Then, turning his back on the shipping docks, he made his way back to the formerly abandoned ATV. 


	49. Recovery One XV: A Sense of Déjà Vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very curious to see people’s reactions to this chapter because I think a lot of people thought I would be divorcing this universe far more from the original Blood Gulch narrative than I am and bringing characters like Crunchbite into the mix is definitely a lot of fun from a writing perspective. Regardless, I hope it’s a fun read for everyone and worth the wait! On the bright side, yay! I’m done with another semester of vet school : ) 
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @icefrozenover, @washingtonstub, @freshzombiewriter, @analiarvb, @meteoratdusk, Yin, @sugarfirervb, and AzturpleanTard1s for the feedback!

After her rather definitive and surprising announcement, Carolina walked right off the ship muttering nonsense about _patrolling_ and a _talk with her partner._ The sorts of things that would immediately cause Tex suspicion. 

Perhaps her time in Blood Gulch had dulled her instincts, though, because a wave of pity overcame her instead. The sort of emotion that would have probably disgusted Carolina had she been able to see it on Tex’s face.

If Tex had a face. 

“Dammit,” Niner hissed in Carolina’s direction before shaking her head and waving Tex over. “Alright get over here. While she sorts herself out we’ll get some actual work done.”

Tex kept her arms crossed, but as Niner rolled her chair by and into the cockpit, Tex kicked off the wall and followed suit. 

“I take it she does that often then,” Tex said more than asked.

There was a bitter laugh from the back of Niner’s throat as they reached the cockpit’s computers. “Yeah, though don’t get the impression this _team_ of ours has been doing this whole on-the-run bit for long.”

Tilting her head, Tex looked curiously at Niner. “Your repertoire with each other says otherwise.”

Niner stopped long enough to look over her shoulder and squinted at her. “You a fucking psychologist now?”

“No,” Tex said without missing a beat.

“Good, because I have a gut reaction to shoot those in the lap now,” Niner said. She then tilted her chin back, eyes growing a bit distant as a smile curled on her lips. “I could _absolutely_ do that if I ran into him again. Holy shit. I think I just got my own goal on this Thelma and Louise schtick.”

Silently, Tex allowed the pilot to move through her own motions. But she waited for the right opportunity to ask the questions she _actually_ wanted the answers to.

Pulling herself back from her thoughts, Niner sighed loftily and reached for the computer’s controls. “So we’re tracking _Wyoming_  now. Okay. That should at least be easier than the last few trackers I’ve had to do.”

Coming up behind her, Tex watched the speed at which Niner worked – the familiarity with the process at her fingertips. 

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” Tex noted quietly.

“Damn straight I do,” Niner said without even looking away from her work.

“Lots of practice?” Tex pressed.

With a heavy breath, Niner continued her work but there was an angry thrum to the sound of her typing. “Yeah, Tex, lots of practice. I know what I’m doing and I’ll be helping you find your guy. Most people would sound grateful.”

“I’m not people,” Tex argued without hesitation. “And I wasn’t trying to insult you. Just… trying to piece together what I’ve missed.”

“Small talk,” Niner mused, a slight chuckle to the words. “Alright, look. I always liked you. Don’t got the problem with you so many others did in the program. You never directly caused shit to go down with my ship. That makes us on _good terms._ But no small talk, no _bonding,_ is gonna change the fact that I’m in Carolina’s corner. She’s…” Niner hesitated her typing. She tapped her fingers idly on the side of the keyboard, as if trying to form the thoughts into words – like it was some monstrous task. “She’s _my person.”_ She then turned and looked heavily at Tex. “And you’re not people, right?”

The sting was there, but Tex elected to ignore it.

“I’m not going to cause any additional trouble for either of you. Promise,” she guaranteed.

“Alright, since that’s clear,” Niner said before continuing with her work. 

Venting deeply, Tex tried to keep on task. “But since we’re working together – at least for a short while – I need to know how reliable this _team-up_ is going to be in a fight.”

“Very,” Niner said on the same beat.

“Even with her _new partner_ freaking out on us?” Tex asked darkly.

Rubbing at her nose with the back of one hand, Niner let out a long sigh. “Alright, I won’t lie to you, Tex. _That_ could be a concern.” She glared forward. “I’m not a fan of Epsilon, and I’m worried about what he’s doing to my girl in there.”

“You should be,” Tex said. “That’s why it’s my goal to destroy Omega after we find him and Wyoming.”

Niner took a breath at the comment, something almost haggard to the look in her eyes. She seemed to be on the edge of a question – maybe even more than one question – but she was holding back.

No bonding, after all.

“How dangerous are AI really?” she asked, though it seemed to be drug out of her, burying some other concern just under the surface.

Tex looked off at the question. It felt… awkward. Which was something that Tex wasn’t exactly used to feeling. She was anything _but_ awkward most would argue. 

But, well, she supposed she couldn’t blame people for what they didn’t know.

“They’re not all bad,” she said at last. “Maybe originally none of them were. But the program dug inside of them, ripped them apart, and left them a hollow shell.” She glanced toward Niner, seeing that she had the pilot’s full gaze at that point. “I think most of them are just trying to learn what order to put the pieces back together in.”

Face screwing into a dissatisfied expression, Niner huffed. “Whatever _that_ bullshit means. Didn’t really take you as the philosophy type.”

“AI classes from Freelancer,” Tex attempted to cover up a little clumsily.

“Glad I never took them,” Niner said flippantly. “Just tell me straight, Tex. Is Epsilon going to go bad and is he going to do it in Carolina’s head? Because I really _will_ rip him out of there myself if there’s a chance of that.”

Tilting her head down, Tex thought for a long moment about just what to say in turn, then she glanced back toward Niner. The honestly frightening recognizability of Epsilon’s manifestation had taken her by surprise before.

“There’s something about him that feels… okay to me,” Tex said cryptically. “I want to believe that he’ll be one of the good ones. But I also think it’s stupid to take those sorts of chances with his history and all.” She shifted her weight slightly to the other foot. “And I don’t think me being around is going to help.” When she noticed Niner’s suspicious stare, Tex course corrected. “I probably remind him of the program.”

"Fine then, I’m ripping him out,” Niner decided before pointing to the blip on the screen. 

Tex overlooked the comment for the moment and instead focused on the blip herself. She leaned in over Niner. “That him? That Wyoming?”

“That’s him,” Niner confirmed.

“Good.”

Surprised her sensors hadn’t gone off, Tex turned quickly on her heels only to face Carolina fully suited up and with Epsilon over her shoulder. 

“Because we’re ready to get this moving,” Carolina continued firmly. 

* * *

How the Covenant had found its way onto the otherwise useless testing planet for Project Freelancer was far from the forefront of Washington’s mind as he led the charge forward.

Instead, he was concerned with Caboose and _furious_ at the very idea that Alpha – Church – would leave him to face such a tremendous threat on his own. 

It would have been nice – even if it was utterly unexpected – for anyone else to share an _iota_ of his concerns about the situation.

“Dude, you have to relax, I’m sure whatever you _think_ is going on isn’t what’s _really_ going on,” Tucker said, walking without so much as a weapon out behind Wash. 

“How can you say that when I just told you that there’s a goddamn monster out there!?” Church cried out.

“Maybe because every time you scream, I automatically tune you out, dude. It’s, like, the _only_ thing you know how to do,” Tucker answered without apology in sight. “Also, hate to point this out, but Wash is, like, the most dramatically paranoid person I have ever met.”

“I am _not_ paranoid,” Wash snapped. “Now get out your gun and stay _quiet!”_

Church’s projection appeared right in front of Wash, causing the Freelancer to flinch back and nearly shoot at the light show. Instead Washington just growled in irritation.

“Dude, you’re _completely_ paranoid,” Church laughed.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Wash snapped. “And it’s not paranoia when _everyone is out to get you.”_

“Dude, _I’m_ not out to get you,” Tucker said with a wave of his free hand as the other went for his newly found sword. “ _Church_ isn’t out to get you. _Tex_ isn’t out to get you. Yet. And… Well, Caboose is our fucking Maverick so who the fuck knows. If you’re worried about getting shot by him, totally justified. But already I just mentioned three people that aren’t out to get you. Ergo not _everyone._ Stop exaggerating.”

“I almost died a few hours ago because Freelancer shot me up,” Wash pointed out angrily.

“Wow, you’re hard to get along with? Who would have seen that coming,” Church snorted dismissively. 

Teeth gnashing, Wash turned sharply on his heels. “You know what, Church–”

Without even fully getting the words out of his mouth, Wash watched as the two simulation troopers screamed out like little girls and nearly tripped over themselves stepping backwards. Which was particularly impressive considering Church was still, at the end of the day, a holographic projection of a computer program.

“And would you stop acting like I am completely unhinged!?” Wash snarled. 

Just before he heard a _real_ snarl just behind him.

“Jesus!” Wash yelled out, spinning around and aiming to shoot.

As the Freelancer had feared, the familiarly intimidating size and girth of an armored Sangheilli brute stood before them. Massive, dark beady eyes boring into them while its unhinged jaws unleashed another slobbery roar toward them. 

Wash took two shots and both managed to miss as the alien ducked around the corner of the hallway again. 

“Tucker!” Wash screamed. “Back me up!”

He hunkered down to continue the assault at a new angle and to make himself a smaller target for the alien, but rather than hearing adjoining gunfire behind him, Wash was met with a far more demoralizing sound.

“Fuck fuck fuck oh shit oh shit oh shit fucking fuck fuck fuckberries goddamn fucking shit oh shit!”

Which only became less encouraging as Wash realized they were getting distinctly further away.

“TUCKER!” Wash yelled over his shoulder before glancing back to the corner and seeing that the Sangheilli’s head was poked out, staring back at him. “Fuck!” 

Furious, Wash retreated right behind Tucker and was unfortunately met with the explosion of laughter Church had in store for both of them. 

"Fucking idiots! I _told_ you there was a monster!” Church cackled.

Ignoring him the best he could, Wash instead focused on Tucker. “Tucker, you were supposed to have my back! What the hell were you thinking leaving me back there?”

“What was I _thinking!?”_ Tucker asked, nearly hysterical. “I’ll tell you what I was thinking – I was thinking _what the actual fuck is that thing holy fuckberries let’s get the fuck out of here fuck shit fuck!_ I thought you woulda been able to follow my logic. I was kinda spelling it out.”

“You’re being ridiculous!” Wash snapped.

“No, fuck that, dude, _you’re_ being ridiculous if you think I’m even mildly regretful of getting the hell out of there,” Tucker said with a wave of his hand.

“Hey, assholes!” Church snapped, projecting between them. “Aren’t you going to pay the _least_ bit of attention to the fact that I was goddamn right–”

“No!” Wash and Tucker answered at once.

“Well, just fucking _great,_ Tucker, we have to go back in there and _now_ we no longer have the element of surprise,” Wash snapped.

“One, we don’t have to do _shit,”_ Tucker said, counting off on his fingers. “Two, we never had the element of surprise on that thing. That thing _is_ the surprise. I mean, what the fuck would make you want to go back there anyway? It’s lost. Exploration done. Let’s go back home and wait for Tex.”

“What would make me want to–” Wash began to repeat before throwing up his free arm, clutching his rifle in the other. “That thing has Caboose! _That was why we were going in there to begin with.”_

“Oh, shit, that’s right,” Tucker said, seeming to have actually forgotten that point.

“Yeah, fuck, man, too bad for Caboose. Being dead now and all because there’s _no_ way he survived that,” Church grumbled. “I mean, I find it unfair that he has this _amazing_ ability to teamkill like there’s no tomorrow but can’t manage a goddamn shot on a giant monster. But. Eh. I’ll miss him, really.”

Washington stared directly at the two Blues in confoundment. “You two are the absolute worst people I have ever met,” he said, almost in shock.

“What? I said I’d miss him! Doesn’t that count for anything anymore?” Church snapped.

“It sure does mean a lot to me, Church!”

Without missing a beat, and before Washington could even turn around to the voice behind him, Tucker already gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Eh, shut up, Caboose. We’re trying to mourn you and shit.”

“Caboose!?” Wash’s voice cracked as he turned and surely enough faced the Blue armored soldier who merely tilted his head in response and gave a small wave. 

“Hello,” Caboose said.

“I should’ve _known_ you would annoy a monster too much to be eaten,” Church said, though the hint of relief in his tone was unmistakable to Washington. 

Not that the former Freelancer was willing to pay the AI much mind. Not when there was a Sangheilli still around, their teammate was magically appearing at dramatically convenient times, and there was still a radiating sword in their possession. 

“What happened, Caboose!? Are you hurt?” Wash demanded.

“Nope,” Caboose shrugged back. “Oh, and you all ran away. And screamed like little girls. And I followed you because I thought something was happening. But then you were saying nice things about me so I listened very, _very_ carefully. And now you’re trying to confuse me… Yeah, I don’t appreciate that last part. I think we should go back to saying nice things about me. That was definitely the best part.”

Wash found himself glaring at Caboose intently.

“No, idiot, we mean what happened before we went in the building,” Tucker attempted valiantly to press the conversation forward but, for once, Wash was not having it.

Holding up a hand to silence the others, Wash made his position clear. “Back up. I did _not_ scream and I did _not_ run away, Caboose. The other two did. But don’t lump me together with them. That isn’t fair.”

“To who? You or us?” Church snarked. 

 _"Obviously_ me,” Wash said, only sparing a sideways glance toward Church’s projection before reconcentrating on Caboose. “I was not screaming. And I only retreated when _my backup_ refused to _back me up._ It was a strategical escape.”

“Right,” Church snorted.

“You’re supposed to be a _ghost_ and you can’t even muster the courage to go back inside for your own body!” Wash snapped fiercely at him.

“Hey. Who else is supposed to keep an eye on you guys?” Church shrugged.

“Yeah, Wash, Church is doing his job,” Tucker defended like he hadn’t been paying attention to half the conversation.

Which was not a bad idea in hindsight. Wash probably should have probably stopped paying attention to the conversation ages ago yet, somehow, the Blue team always managed to suck him back in. Like some kind of vortex of stupidity he never managed to steer clear of. 

“I was shooting at the thing while _you_ were running away!” Wash yelled at Tucker.

“How? I mean look how fucking far we are, dude! How’re you going to shoot at it? _Mail_ your bullets to it?” Tucker snapped back.

Wash narrowed his eyes and waved his battle rifle. “Want me to show you how I was shooting, Private Tucker?”

“Bow chicka–”

“ _I told you to stop that!”_ Wash growled before Tucker could even finish. 

“I know they yell a lot,” Caboose was saying, still in the faint distance behind them. “But they’re actually very nice about their yelling. It’s their way of saying hello! Especially Church. If he yells at you the most, that makes you his favorite. But don’t worry. _I’m already his favorite so I will get yelled at the most and if not then I’ll get very very mad at Tucker because he needs to stop stealing special friends.”_

Tucker’s entire body slumped and he let out one of the loudest groans Washington had ever heard. “Caboose, if you don’t fucking stop plotting behind my back I’m going to–” Tucker then abruptly cut himself off with a shrill scream.

Moving entirely on instinct, Wash turned on his heels and aimed his rifle in the direction Tucker had been looking. Sure enough, the Sangheilli from within the building was out now – and hunched over beside Caboose with eyes trained directly on him. 

In the sunlight, Wash noticed more details of the Covenant elite. The battle armor that Wash had seen during his time in action for the Great War was damaged, shattered in multiple areas, especially over the dome of its head and in the protective shielding of its chest. The clawed hands were gnarled but empty as they hung by its sides, and the entire body of the thing heaved with every breath. Its gray skin seemed yellowed and scales unaligned. 

Something was _wrong_ with the blue armored Sangheilli, but Wash was not about to waste time and find out what exactly that was until Caboose stepped _directly_ into his lane of sight.

“Anyway, I’ll introduce you to everybody! It’ll be great!”Caboose all but cheered.

“Caboose!” Wash yelled. “Get out of the way!” 

Apparently completely lost on the danger that was right in front of him, Caboose whirled around with his gun wildly and caused both Tucker and Church to hit the deck. “What!? Which way is _the_ way?” he cried out.

“Get down!” Wash snapped.

“Okay, that usually means we’re in danger, so we need to get down,” Caboose explained to the alien before grabbing it by the shoulders and, with an astounding amount of strength that Wash had never seen a human able to inflict on a Sangheilli, pushed them both to the ground.

“Blargh,” the alien coughed out as it hit the ground, but it did not otherwise make any moves against Caboose.

If Wash hadn’t known any better, he’d even think that the creature was being _obedient_ to him.

“Caboose! Get away from that thing!” Wash yelled, not taking his eyes off his sights, trained on where the monster’s head would be if the Blue wasn’t between them. 

“There’s a thing!? Oh no, please don’t let me accidentally do something with the thing. Whatever it is,” Caboose said.

“You idiot! Wash is talking about the monster!” Tucker said, suddenly having regained enough courage to berate his teammate. Which, Wash was finally beginning to realize, might have been the only force capable of motivating _anyone_ on the team. “Get away from it so he can blow its brains out!”

“And then I can go back for my body! Being out here and able to do nothing is kinda making me feel… I don’t know. Weird,” Church said as his sprite shivered.

“I don’t see how it’s _that_ much different than usual,” Wash said flatly. 

“Hey! Fuck you! You can’t talk to me like that! Only Tex can!” Church snapped.

“So, in case anyone was wondering about the moral of the day, it’s that you’re only allowed to criticize a person if you’re fucking them,” Tucker marveled. “I like this new world order of the future.”

“It’s _not_ the future!” Wash cried out, voice cracking.

Caboose and the monster got back to their feet, but Caboose did not step away from it. Rather, he wrapped an arm around the alien’s broad shoulders. “Maybe if you’re scared of a monster, we could send Crunchbite after it. He makes funny noises and roars really loud. That’ll scare most monsters away. That’s how my sisters used to back on the moon. Soon, there weren’t even monsters under the beds of any kids on the whole moon! That’s how good at making noises they were.” He turned and looked over the alien. “I don’t think Crunchbite’s _that_ good. But he’s good. I know because he did it and it worked on Church!”

Church flinched then had the gall to look incredulous. “Hey! I wasn’t scared! I had a strategical retreat. Back me up here, Wash.”

“No,” Wash answered without hesitation.

“Seriously, Caboose! Get away from that thing, you don’t know where it’s been,” Tucker yelled, waving his wrist as the damn sword swung around with it dangerously. “And don’t give it names. We already have a pet at Blue Base that sits around, accomplishes nothing, and forces us to carry it around when it’s lazy. Its name is Church.”

Glaring Tucker’s way, Wash shook his head. “Tucker, what did I tell you about waving that thing around!?”

“Bow chicka–”

Moments away from having the luxury of smacking Tucker upside the head with the butt of his rifle, Wash felt a rush of wind and saw a blur of gray and blue go past him. 

It was the alien – it had, without warning, lunged at Tucker and tackled him to the ground, gnarled hands clawing and reaching for the sword Tucker was holding just out of its reach despite kicking out and whining even louder than the alien’s growls. 

“Tucker!” Wash yelled out in unison with Church. He took aim and pulled the trigger but found himself tackled to the ground – his stray shot whistling through the air and far from its intention. “What the– _Caboose!?_ Get off of me!”

Caboose complied, but it was only so that he could throw himself around the alien who, upon grabbing the sword from Tucker’s hands, had sat up on Tucker’s waist and let out a long, strange noise that Washington couldn’t consider anything more than a _honk._

“Stop being mean to Crunchbite! All he wants to do is be my friend! And we can never have too many friends!” Caboose snapped at Wash.

“You can’t be serious!” Wash cried out. “It’s a _Sangheilli!_ In battle armor! It’s the most dangerous thing in the galaxy that we know of!”

"Hey, watch it! We don’t know when Tex’ll be back. She’ll be, like, _so_ fucking offended,” Church warned. 

Seemingly upset, the alien rose to its feet over top of Tucker and, like a petulant child, threw the hilt of the sword down to where it hit Tucker’s helmet. The aqua armored soldier flinched at the audible _ting_ and curled up.

“Ow! What the fuck did I do!?” Tucker whined.

“Were mean to Crunchbite, _obviously,”_ Caboose said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “Now we can all learn to be a lot nicer to each other, maybe we’ll stop showing off swords and making other people feeling bad.”

“Shut _up,_ Caboose!” 

“Wait, no, Tucker, I think he may be right!” Church called out, earning looks from both the sitting up Tucker and from Wash.

“What?” they asked in unison.

“I think the monster was pissed off because of your sword you pulled out of the ditch,” Church said. “I mean, Wash is trying to use him for target practice and _that_ didn’t seem to worry him too much. You swinging your sword around really got to him though.” He looked toward the alien. “Is that it, Crunchbite? Is that what’s bothering you?”

Then, unlike anything Washington had heard from one of the creatures before, the thing honked twice.

“Honk _honk!_ I think that means yes!” Church called out, elated. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Wash replied with nearly a jaw dropped at the stupidity of it all. “And you can’t make sense of the honking – it’s… it’s not even a language! What language sounds like that?”

“Uh, obviously Crunchbite’s, Agent Washington,” Caboose responded. He then leaned toward Church and Tucker and stage whispered, “Someone isn’t very good at listening…”

"So are we just going to ignore the fact that I got assaulted by Caboose’s newest honking dog?” Tucker demanded, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing the hilt of the sword. “ _Also_ can we talk about that thing’s dong?”

“What?” Wash demanded, incredulously.

“Yeah, I echo that sentiment. What the actual fuck, Tucker?” Church got out, utterly baffled.

“Well, it was on top of me and it kept like smacking against my armor – it’s fucking huge!” Tucker cried out. “I mean, look at it!” 

As if by instinct, Wash found himself glancing toward the exposed Sangheilli before quickly catching himself, shaking his head, and looking back at Tucker. “Absolutely not! This conversation is ending now.”

“Fuck, glad Tex isn’t here to see this,” Church marveled.

Caboose, fortunately, did not seem to so much as register the conversation topic. 

“So… what now?” Tucker asked.

“What now?” Wash repeated, looking at the others. “Church is going back in the building to get his body and his gun, come out here, and we’ll kill this thing by firing squad before it does any real damage. Obviously.”

“Whoa! Hold up there!” Church called out. “That sounds like you’re trying to give me orders again. Like, seriously, what in the fuck makes you think you can do that.”

“Your ex-girlfriend,” Wash spat back, earning an _Ohhhhhhhh_ from both Tucker and Caboose.

“ _Still_ girlfriend! We’re… It’s just… Shut up! It’s complicated!” Church growled in return. “I’m… gonna go grab my body though. Y’know. Of my own free will. When I want to.” 

As Church finished his muttering, Tucker rounded on Wash. “You’re not serious about killing Crunchbite are you?”

Giving Tucker a questioning look, Wash tightened his grip on his rifle. “Why _wouldn’t_ I be serious about this?”

“Because Crunchbite is in Blue armor. That makes him friendly. Everybody knows that, Agent Washington,” Caboose hand waved.

“ _Because_ you’ve been bitching about the fact that we don’t know anything about this sword, right?” Tucker ignored Caboose and raised the hilt of the sword up, igniting the blast of plasma energy that formed the blade around his enclosed fist again. Almost immediately, the alien reacted with a series of garbled noises and honks before tearing away from Caboose’s side and taking hold of Tucker’s wrist, pulling him toward the path out of the facility grounds.

Tucker looked almost smugly at Wash. “See? He knows something about the sword. So it’d be stupid to kill him until we at least know what he wants to use the sword for, right? I mean, how else is a journey for a _chosen one_ supposed to start? He’s like our Gollum.”

“Gollum bit off Frodo’s finger at the end of the journey,” Wash said before he could catch himself.

“What a nerd,” Church snorted. “And by movie rules, Frodo pushed Gollum into the lava. And by book rules, Gollum’s enough of a fucking idiot he trips and falls himself into the lava. So as long as Tucker’s okay with losing a finger, I say this idea is the only thing we’ve done since getting into the future that’s made sense.”

Behind his helmet, Wash’s eye twitched uncontrollably. “We’re _not_ in the– You know what. I can’t win logically. I hate all of you.”

“Aw, you’ve grown on us, too, buddy,” Tucker mocked.

“Church, go get your body. The rest of you…” Wash stared uneasily at the alien. “Let’s… figure out what to do with _this_ complication.”

“Sleepover!” Caboose cheered. 

* * *

Trusting Niner was easy enough. The pilot had changed less in personality than in looks since their time in Freelancer, and there was a certain comfort Tex took in the no-nonsense of the woman. 

And even if she had made a point of defending her loyalty to Carolina first and foremost, well, as far as Tex was concerned that was all the more reason to like her. 

The flight trailing Wyoming had left an uneasy silence. Tex wouldn’t tempt the obvious favoritism Niner had, which left her and Carolina to stare at each other from the back of the stolen Pelican. 

Carolina had still refused to take off her helmet in front of Tex, and she didn’t so much as flinch regardless of how many times her obviously defunct AI flickered on or off, switching shoulder to shoulder. Which was impressive considering that it was annoying the hell out of Tex.

Folding her arms against her chest, Tex leaned back against the wall and stared back at Carolina. 

Maybe it was better to keep their helmets on. Tex could pretend that, like herself, it was Carolina’s true face. And, perhaps, in a way that was more true than either of them could be prepared to admit. 

But the truth about herself, about _them,_ was always just beneath the surface.

In a sea of the code that formed her independently of Alpha, Tex had her own fragments deep down, her own personality. 

Her own _memories._

No matter how fuzzy. 

“I can’t believe you’re forcing _me_ to be the one to break the ice here,” Tex finally joked, attempting to alleviate some of the pressure before the whole cabin blew out from it. “Interpersonal skills was never really something they programmed me with.”

With that, Epsilon appeared more solidly over Carolina’s shoulders. He was looking at Tex with complete and total attention. 

Carolina was far less impressed. 

“No need to work against your programming now,” she snapped. “We’re only helping each other out while our goals are aligned. You’ll _owe_ me.”

There was a lot of biting rhetoric through it all, but Tex kept focused. Kept calm. There were still _many_ things that needed to be said between them. And, if truth be told, _Tex didn’t know where to start._

So she went for the most obvious. “You don’t sound too surprised to hear me throwing around the idea that I’m _programmed,”_ Tex said, sounding more impressed than she’d care to admit. 

“Am I supposed to be?” Carolina asked thickly. “I thought for a long time that you were augmented – lost a limb in the War or something. But that made less and less sense as time went on. Then, considering the Director’s favoritism, and the way he likes _toys_ , I had to get to the right conclusion eventually. Even if it was _long_ after CT.”

Not able to let that slide, Tex kicked off from the wall and stood with her shoulders squared toward Carolina. “I am _no one’s_ toy,” she sneered. “ _I_ make the decisions for what I do now,” she continued, her gaze shifting toward Epsilon almost instinctively, like she was getting something off her chest that she never could back in Blood Gulch. “That makes me independent. That makes me a _person,_ doesn’t it?”

That seemed to strike Carolina far more than the rest of their conversation. She tilted her head. “That sounds an awful lot like _rampancy_ to me.”

“I’m not rampant,” Tex argued without hesitation. 

“How would you know? You never took our classes,” Carolina half mocked. 

“Rampancy,” Epsilon parroted in a near whisper. 

"Believe it or not I’m _really_ trying to build some comradery here, Carolina,” Tex snapped, unable to help herself. “Look, I _meant_ what I said back during the crash. I want to help. I wanted you to join me and put an end to all of this nonsense then and there.”

“Yeah?” Carolina all but hissed. “Well, exactly what’ve you done to _put an end to all of this nonsense_ since then? Freelancer moved its energy toward the Recovery project. The Director hasn’t been seen by _anyone._ And as far as I can tell you’ve been playing coy on this planet before you got some itch to go after Wyoming for reasons I couldn’t care less about.”

“My priorities never changed,” Tex argued. “The Director just got lower on the list than he already was. He wasn’t and still _isn’t_ worth it to me.”

“How can you _say_ that!?” Carolina demanded, sounding almost offended at the thought. 

“Because it’s how I feel,” Tex answered solidly. Her gaze couldn’t help but shift toward Epsilon again. “The Director will be a good thing to have out of the way, but it’s not going to make me whole again.”

“What will?” Epsilon asked, voice seething with genuine curiosity.

“Don’t talk to her, Epsilon, she doesn’t make any sense,” Carolina huffed, turning to walk toward the cockpit. “She doesn’t know the answer to that.”

Tex watched as Carolina passed her, but didn’t make any attempts to stop her. 

There was more truth to Carolina’s assertion than Tex cared to admit. 

* * *

There had been a part of Washington that believed, for some reason, that Doc would _not_ have been back at the vehicles and have gone the way of the Reds. It might have been the last bit of optimism left in his body and it quickly curled up and died painfully when they were greeted by purple armor. 

“Oh, for the love of–” Wash growled, resting his head in his hand as he stopped in the middle of his tracks.

“Doc! What’re you doing here?” Tucker asked, sounding more genuine.

“Well, I _do_ need to perform at least a checkup on my patient before letting you guys go on anymore crazy adventures,” he said, awkward laugh following the statement. He then took pause and did a full body sweep of Crunchbite. “Oh! Hello there! I see we have a new addition to the team.”

“ _No,”_ Wash and Church said in eerie unison at the same time Caboose shouted, “YES!”

“Well, I’ll need to do a full physical exam for any new team members. It’s proper protocol,” Doc said, taking a step toward Crunchbite and earning a vicious roar. “Whoo someone has been dealing with a _severe_ case of gingivitis.”

“There’s no proper protocol for dealing with a massive, possibly handicapped Sangheili warrior that is following us around like a lost puppy,” Wash snapped. “I have _the book_ memorized as far as procedure is concerned. This is not procedure. This… This is madness.”

“No, this is Blue Team,” Caboose said in what Wash would one day possibly reflect on as the most zen observation ever conducted by a simulation trooper.

With another gutteral _blarghing_ noise, Crunchbite grabbed Tucker by the wrist and pulled him again in the same direction as before, earning a warning click of Wash’s rifle which got the alien to stop in its tracks. 

“I’ve had enough of that,” Wash warned darkly. 

“Okay, calm down, Billy the Kid, let’s try to figure out what exactly Crunchbite wants from us,” Tucker reasoned. 

"It’s part of the Covenant. It wants to _kill_ us,” Wash replied flatly, earning a look of utter _ire_ from Doc. “What now?”

“I just think it’s awfully telling that you’re the type of person to judge an individual on the _assumption_ of a collective, Washington. It honestly surprises me, I guess I expected better from you after seeing you with the Blue Army so much,” Doc responded despondently. 

Wash scowled. “That should honestly lower someone’s opinion of me.”

“It’s lowered mine if it’s any consolation,” Church chimed in. 

When Crunchbite snarled and pulled on Tucker again, that time getting the trooper to actually stumble in line after him for a bit, the alien made a pleased honk and then continued yanking Tucker in that direction. 

“Oh, hey, I think he wants to take me somewhere!” Tucker called out over his shoulder. 

“Wow, Tucker, those are some _fantastic_ observational skills you’ve got there. Really stunning!” Church called out snappishly.

“Don’t worry, you’re not going anywhere,” Wash threatened and aimed for Crunchbite again, only for the alien to turn, release Tucker, and charge at him. Wash fired but the gun was knocked out of his grasps and he was pinned to the ground. “Agh! Caboose! Help!”

“Oh, um, bad Crunchbite. Let up, Crunchbite. Agent Washington is our friend! And we all shoot guns at our friends sometimes,” Caboose said soothingly.

“Goddammit, this was _not_ how I expected death to come,” Wash growled between gnashed teeth.

“I’m just as surprised as you! Speaking on a medical level, persistent and possibly internal injuries were _much_ higher on my list than evisceration by an extraterrestrial species,” Doc sighed. “I guess that’s why I never _quite_ made it out of medical school.”

“Fuck off,” Wash snapped.

"Yeah, fuck off, Doc! It’s literally impossible for someone to die with dignity when you’re around,” Tucker piled on. “You suck it out of the air.”

“You know, I’m starting to remember why it wasn’t very hard to agree with an evil world-destroying AI over all of you,” Doc sighed. 

Tucker then walked over and shoved Crunchbite’s shoulders, which was far from enough to get the alien monstrosity off of Washington, but _did_ get the alien’s attention enough to stop attempting to claw at the Freelancer’s armor. “Ugly, whatever it is you want from us, it’s going to be a _whole_ lot harder for you to get us to go along if Wash is dead. Just saying. Poor planning.”

Crunchbite grabbed Tucker’s wrist again and got off Wash by his own volition. 

Pushing up from the ground, Wash could already see that Tucker was willing to follow the alien. “This is the worst idea. _Ever._ Of _all time.”_

“So you’re coming?” Tucker asked without hesitation.

“Someone has to shoot this thing before it kills you,” Wash said thickly as he got up. 

Church looked back and forth between them and snorted. “Yeah, have fun on your roadtrip. I’m fucking _done_ with this and going back to Blue Base. Can’t let the Reds fuck stuff up too much in the canyon. And if Tex makes it back before we do, there’ll be hell to pay, I’m sure. She _hates_ being late.”

“Bow chicka bow wow.”

“I don’t get it,” Caboose sighed while Church literally tripped over words for an angry response. 

“Oh, good! I need to get back to Blood Gulch, too!” Doc called out excitedly. “I was stationed there, after all, and for _some_ reason haven’t gotten any answers from Command for a new assignment since then. So _obviously_ they know your canyon’s record for injuries and figured there needs to be a permanent station.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Church gasped. “I _cannot_ do an entire trip back with just me and Doc.”

“You _won’t_ because I won’t allow it,” Wash said. When everyone gave him a questioning look, Wash waved to Doc. “Tex would literally murder me for allowing Church to go with the last person to have her rampant AI in his head.”

“Ohhhh yeah good point,” the Blues muttered in agreement.

“How’re you going to go two places at once, Hero?” Church mocked.

“I’m not,” Wash said. “Caboose, you’re going to be teamed up with Church.”

“What!?” Church screeched as Caboose clapped his hands together and cheered. 

“This is the best team I have ever been on in my life!!!” Caboose cried out happily. 

“I hate you so much that it literally stuns me,” Church said flatly toward Washington.

“I’m sure on levels you’re not even aware of, the feeling’s mutual,” Wash replied. “Now let’s split up, like every _incredibly_ bad idea ever made in history.”

“There you go, Wash! That’s the Blue Team spirit!” Tucker joked.

Unfortunately it felt _far_ more true than it probably should have.


	50. Recovery Two XV: The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re in the 50s. Oh my god, I never thought we’d get here, in some ways but we’re here and I can’t appreciate you all who have stuck with me more than I do now. I hope you’ve enjoyed things up to this point : ) Because now we’re winding down so to speak. 
> 
> Special thanks to @analiarvb, @icefrozenover, @secretlystephaniebrown, @freshzombiewriter, @washingtonstub, @lunausa, Yin, @notatroll7, Linni, Meep, Kiwi, @meteoratdusk, doodlingNutjob, Watergirl14, and irismon for the feedback!

Everything was moving too fast. 

They had barely gotten the heads up that the Meta was on its way when there was a flash of familiar white armor in the distance through North’s scope. Theta’s thrumming in the back of his mind jerked like a spike in pulse.

“Are we gonna shoot him?” Theta asked.

“It’d give away our position if we do it too early,” North warned, spiraling his gun around in an attempt to keep track of the quickly advancing target. “But dammit if he’s not moving fast.”

“I can calculate–” Theta began but knew to stop almost immediately when North’s subconscious flared up an aggressive thought his way. “Sorry.”

“Just keep track of everything else,” North said lowly. “And, South, wherever the _hell_ you are, you better be here to see your supposed big plan in action. As much as I _trust_ you and all, being live bait again hasn’t really been a pleasurable experience for me–”

“Christ you complain so much,” South huffed over the radio. “Keep your sights on the Meta. And, Theta, keep him in line.”

“Easier said than done,” both North and Theta remarked before giving each other a sideways glance.

North concentrated, grinding his teeth until his jaw was set _just_ right as he looked down through the scope of his rifle. It did not take long for the Meta, approximately a hundred kilometers out, to finally reach exactly where the sharpshooter wanted him.

“We’re close,” Theta hummed loudly through his mind.

“I’ve got him,” North announced lowly before taking the shot.

It was a powerful pop, sounding through the mountains they had set themselves upon. And the marksman could not have been more on the spot – aiming down the center of the domed helmet of what had once been a brother in arms. He was right on the money. 

Except the Meta only stopped. 

“What the…” North trailed off, watching in his scope as the far off visage stayed in place. There was no break in his helmet, no sign of the shot that had so _clearly_ made its mark had done so.

Instead the Meta stood there and, all too late, North realized what was happening just as the figure disappeared with a flicker.

“South! We didn’t have visual on the Meta! It was using a holographic projection!” Theta screamed over their airways. 

“It’s going to have our position,” North realized out loud, slowly beginning to push up to his knees. The true implications of the event were finally catching up with him. “South, this wasn’t a trap _by_ us, it was _for_ us. I’m moving myself and Theta out of here _now_! Theta, stop projecting a signal–”

No sooner had he turned around to begin putting the plan into action, South yelled over their shared frequency. 

“Don’t! North, not yet! It’ll all work out, stick to the plans, follow my orders!” she said, nearly breathless. “I’m heading your way. You meet me halfway.”

Grinding on his teeth again, North kept from immediately arguing and instead began obeying orders only to hear the loud thud behind him. 

Once more, Theta’s incessant pulsing increased and the AI all but gasped as his projection faced behind them from North’s shoulder before taking cover. “He’s here!”

North dared to look back just enough to confirm that the hulking mass behind them was, in fact, the Meta. Around the helmet of the approaching man flew a flurry of lights, flickering images of various AI. 

The haunting green glow of the one that stopped right in front and seemed to focus the most on them did not escape him.

“Delta,” Theta whispered all the same. 

An inhuman rumbling came from the speakers of the Meta’s suit, hissing and growling like an animal of some sort before it charged forward, brute shot first.

“Fuck,” North hissed out before turning and high tailing it toward the predesignated location with South. “We’re coming in hot!”

“I can see that!” South yelled before leaping out from a rocky crevice and firing twice against the Meta, hitting its shoulder and kneecap and eliciting a roar right back from it. 

As North cleared the distance, South covered them. 

While the attack clearly kept their opponent at a distance, it wasn’t long before he was charging again, and it was only with her own armor’s enhancements that South was keeping the shots from his brute shot at bay. 

At least that was the case until they reached their ship and, surely enough, as planned, the turrets all pointed in the Meta’s direction and began firing. 

“Perfect,” South said, her grin evident in her voice.

“Um, if you _say_ so,” Theta muttered over North’s shoulder. 

“Perfect? Perfect for what?” North demanded as, even under turret fire, the Meta painstakingly stepped forward toward them again.

“Perfect for _me,”_ South announced before pulling out her bowie knife and began to light up her suit in that same way North had watched her power it up before. “Watch and learn, boys. Here’s how we incapacitate a killing machine and bring it into Control for a handsome reward – no backup necessary.”

Alarmed, North reached for his sister. “Wait, South!”

She lunged forward without any hesitation and, once more, North couldn’t tell if it was _him_ or _Theta_ who was causing his heart to begin racing. 

A part of him, the part he knew was logical, was learning from being his sister’s subordinate all this time, watched quietly and supportively. She could make things work, she had proven this indomitable spirit in spite of _all_ of them so far.

Immediately, she began to move in and swiped forward with the bowie knife for the Meta’s hand gripping the handle of his brute shot. With the swipe, the Meta snarled and a spray of blood coated its armor and weapon.

When the Meta swiped back at her, South moved with augmented speed to duck beneath the attack. 

North watched, astounded. Theta was rushing with energy but there was a peak of optimism that was almost unusual for him. 

He had never been more impressed with his sister. 

But then, as she went for another attack, something _changed_ about South. She made the initial motion to lunge, but the same lights which had indicated use of her armor before went off all at once, flaring out. Her body went rigid, her vitals leaped – heart rate, blood pressure, respiration. 

Then she was frozen in that pose.

“South!?” North yelled over the hail of turret fire. 

The Meta tilted its head, staring at her in the same curious way North was. Then, without any further hesitation, he took his boot down against the visor of her helmet, cracking the glass and sending her flying back into the ground where he shot her in the shoulder.

“NO!” North and Theta screamed in unison before diving over to their sister and protectively curling over her just as Theta got the bubble shield up. 

“ _Hargrove,”_ South hissed out between clenched teeth. 

North looked up from cradling his sister to look at the Meta swinging the blade of the brute shot against the bubble shield. On his HUD, a countdown had already started. 

“North! What do we do?” Theta asked. 

For once, North didn’t have the answers.

* * *

It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.

South stared, dumbstruck as the monster once known as their teammate bashed against the dome shield. The armor around her clenched in the solid, immobile way her own jaw worked then and there. But it was not by her design, and she had known it almost immediately.

Her teeth did their best to grit against each other even with the helmet tightened around her. 

It was Control. It was _Hargrove._ It was all by design. 

To what ends? She didn’t know. She didn’t care – the point was clear.

South was not supposed to be in control. And the illusion of her having a modicum of it was likely going to cost her her life and the life of her brother. 

The freedom of his AI. 

“Goddamn it,” she managed out, eyes blurring as she watched the flicker of the dome shield around them in between the Meta’s strikes. It took a moment to realize that the blurring had less to do with the cracks in her visor and more with the tears building over her vision. 

But her words seemed to not matter to everyone around her. There was more important business, of course. 

“Shield power is at thirty-four percent, North! We can’t keep this up!” Theta all but screamed out to them. 

North gripped his rifle as he stood over South – as if the weapon had anything to offer in their close proximity even _with_ the shields up. 

“I know,” North said, looking down to South. 

The expressionless helmet was almost worse than seeing any disappointment or smugness her brother might have held on reserve for her. Instead the reflective visor showed her paralyzed form back to her, flat on its back with nothing helpful to offer. 

There was a large crackle as the Meta bashed against the shield and it nearly came down all around them. Theta’s form flinched back and screamed as North only looked up to observe the situation evenly. 

“Twenty-four percent!” Theta cried out in absolute fear.

“N-North,” South gritted out.

He looked down to her and South _tried._ She tried harder than she ever had as children, tried with every ounce of will, of power, of _strength_ that was left in her clenched and paralyzed form to reach out to her brother with mind alone. To tell him that she wasn’t ready to give up. That this was _not_ how she had planned for things to go. That it wasn’t _fair._

Her life was _never_ fair. 

And she knew it was that unfairness that was going to get them both killed.

“I have an idea,” North said, reaching up and popping off his helmet. 

Taken aback, South stared at her brother, as if she had any choice in the matter. She watched as his face wore no contempt, no anger – no _anything._ There was only the complacent acceptance he seemed to have on reserve these days. 

“North, I don’t like this plan,” Theta announced, stuttering and tripping over himself as North knelt beside South and pulled her into a sitting position, resting against his knee. 

“I’ve beat the odds before and kept a shield up without an AI before,” North shrugged. “And you already did the hard part for me and calculated the size. I just have to run the battery out.”

“North!” Theta cried out, as if the word held everything. 

“And you were the one that pointed out this armor has an empty AI slot, didn’t you?” North asked knowingly. “You just unlock her armor, override whatever’s happening, and I’ll handle our old buddy Maine.”

“Please don’t eject me, North! I’m begging you, North! _North!_ Please! Please listen to me! I don’t want to be ejected, please–”

There was a long sigh. “Theta,” North started before abruptly stopping and thinking better of it. “Operation override. Command: Ejection.”

South stared, wide-eyed and terrified. “N-North,” she managed one last time.

“Acknowledged,” Theta said in an oddly accepting voice. 

And then things began crashing down around them. 

* * *

For a moment, only a moment, North paused as the chip pressed against his readied hand. 

There was no pulse in the back of his mind, no hum, no–

Theta was fine, he had to remind himself of that even as the shield flittered around them. They had very little chance of success unless he pulled himself together and went through with the plan.

His very stupid, very high risk plan. 

Kneeling by his sister, North yanked off her helmet, ignoring the broken glass that fell out from her visor. He then began examining the implant to the back of her neck, brushing aside her hair as the bubble shield failed. 

“N-North,” she gritted out as best he could. “What are you–”

“I’m not good up close, everyone and their mother knows that, Dear Sister,” North remarked simply. “We need you right now more than ever, alright? And no remote control dog collar should get in the way of the Twins, right?”

“You idiot,” she gasped. 

“I know,” he said, inserting Theta’s chip and then putting her helmet back on. “I’m going to give you as much time as I can. Hope it’s enough for Theta to fix whatever’s going on in that fancy armor of yours.”

South stared at him through the holes of her visor, eyes wide. 

“I trust you,” North announced, raising to his feet and turning around to face their enemy. 

Holding up his rifle, North narrowed his eyes and pointed for the Meta just as the shield shattered around them. 

“Greetings,” he said before firing the first shot, point blank. 

The Meta roared in anger, blood spraying from the hole in the armor over his chest. He took a moment to examine it before thrusting his brute shot and snapping off the end of the long range rifle. 

“Well that bought less time than expected,” North grunted, using the remains of his rifle to block another swing of the Meta’s massive blade. 

He spared a glance back to his sister, seeing her getting to her feet. It was slowly – too slowly. He wasn’t going to make it long enough if she and Theta took too long to shake off whatever had happened to her armor.

North was not a fool, even if he had came up with the plan to begin with. He was a _realist._ A man who had the memories of the bruises he received during hand to hand combat trials and what little promise he had to offer in the department compared to all those who earned points over him on the leaderboard.

Especially _Agent Maine_ , second only to Carolina herself in the hand to hand rankings. 

But North also hadn’t lacked promise in all other aspects to get to where he was. 

When the brute shot couldn’t cut through the entirety of his rifle, North wrangled for control of the weapon. His feet planted firmly against the ground and he wrestled control of the brute shot against a surprised Meta. 

“This isn’t going as you planned?” North gritted out. “Yeah, me neither.”

A swirl of holographic lights appeared around the helmet of the Meta, rotating in succession as if giving each AI a chance to look through Maine’s eyes, before stopping on a familiar green. 

“Delta,” North couldn’t help but say.

Delta, and in turn the Meta, looked over North’s shoulder and seemed very interested in something.

Despite himself, North followed the gaze and saw for himself that South was fully standing and staring at them, Theta over her shoulder. 

“South!” North yelled out in relief. 

As he stared at her, though, North’s relief curdled in his veins. 

South made no sudden movements. She looked at her hands, watched as the lights turned on bit by bit on her armor. Then she looked back at him – looked at him with that broken visor not hiding the look in her eyes. Not at all hiding their intentions or their regret.

At that moment, North knew. There was no second guessing. 

His sister didn’t move. But the Meta did.

“I trust you,” North said, barely over a whisper as the blade of the brute shot slit him in half. 

* * *

South had never experienced screams bursting out from her own mind, with her own throat. 

There was fear and loss and mourning inside, and anger and primal rage outside. 

They broke together in one, disorienting cry that nearly took her off her feet, even as she watched her twin’s body hit the ground. As her enemy pressed forward as if it had done nothing but clear weeds in its path.

“We have to leave,” South gasped, breathless, throat torn to ribbons. 

There was still screaming as she ran to the ship and locked them in. 

Her fist went through the receiver – an incoming message was blinking and she didn’t need to read it to know it was coming from Control. 

There was scraping and shooting at the door behind her, long and intimidating and wrong because it wasn’t from the man she left laying the field in pieces.

Hated replaced the screams. And their ship took flight at last. 

With two instead of three. 


	51. Intermission: Chess Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s a little short but considering what I left you guys on last time, I think you’ll forget me for things being cut a little short. I’m sorry that was terrible and too soon. 
> 
> Special thanks to @icefrozenover, @washingtonstub, @secretlystephaniebrown, @notatroll7, @analiarvb, DuchessPoint, irismon, @meteoratdusk, Yin, and Septdeneuf for the feedback!

They should have known better.

At least that’s what he tells himself, crouching over the remains of the Freelancer they had sworn to kill once everything was said and done with and Charon had had their fill of the unreliable hired muscle. 

“What a way to go,” he remarked, tilting his head as he examined the thickening pool of blood beneath the remains. “Cut in half. After what they did to my Connie, I can’t say I feel all that bad for him, though.”

“They’re an endangered species,” Sharkface snarled behind him, getting CT’s attention as he traced his hands over a large footprint. “If we don’t hurry up, they’ll go extinct before we have a chance to _play_ with them.”

“That such a bad thing?” CT asked, standing up and dropping a transmitter by the corpse. “We’ve got more important business to attend to.”

“More important than our _revenge?_ More important than our _friends they slaughtered!?”_ Sharkface roared, turning to loom over CT angrily. 

He looked at his partner quietly, observing him before holding up his hands in surrender. “Of course not. Avenging the memories of the fallen will always be the goal. But you know that _revenge_ isn’t what’s keeping us in Hargrove’s favor. If we’re even still _in_ his favor by this point.”

Sharkface stepped closer to him, snarling. “I don’t give two solid shits about Control’s _favor_ anymore.”

“Then you’re an idiot,” CT answered without hesitation. “Or at least you’ve forgotten how one bad move and these people we’re dealing with have the power to put us away and put us away for a _long_ time if we’re not doing what they want us to. That blade they’ve had held to the Freelancers’ throats this whole time? It cuts both ways. And every time that Freelancer bitch scrapes by on the skin of her teeth on these doomed missions from Hargrove, he thinks of ways he can use her that he can’t use us.”

“Then we break the blade on _our_ end!” Sharkface roared. 

CT let out a long sigh. “We have to play smarter than that,” he tried his best to explain, walking away from Sharkface and monitoring the impressions of the pelican that the other Freelancer was currently riding in – that was _stolen_ Charon property. 

“Smarter how?” Sharkface demanded. 

“Smarter than these Freelancers have been,” CT explained. “Ever played chess?”

“No,” Sharkface answered.

Sighing in aggravation, CT looked back at him. “Well, there’s different types of pieces when you play chess, and they have different ways they move across the board. You have Pawns and Knights and Bishops–”

“I _know_ what the pieces are and what chess is, I’m not an idiot! I just haven’t played because learning how to play is boring as _fuck,”_ Sharkface snapped in return. 

“Then you know that _pawns_ are the least valuable pieces and the ones you are most likely to sacrifice in a play,” CT continued. “Have the least amount of power for their position, as it were.”

“And what exactly is it that you’re suggesting?” Sharkface hissed.

“Time for us to stop being pawns, unless we want to end up being sacrificed,” CT said, nodding in the direction of the Freelancer. “Like that schmuck.”

“And how exactly do you expect to prove more valuable with the dumb as piss assignments we’re given?” Sharkface sneered.

“Prove we have more than one move,” CT said. “I’ve already dropped a beacon for Charon to send some men to pick up the pieces here. Do some forensics and whatever the fuck else Control deems necessary. But I’m heading back to the ruins. If I get more evidence that there are artifacts here, that this planet is worth keeping, I’ll be putting some scores in my corner.”

“And what about _me_ in this equation?” Sharkface demanded. “How am I supposed to _score some points?”_

CT looked back at him. “Guess that’s something for you to find out.”

* * *

It had taken many countless hours, but there was nothing he created that he did not understand how to break. 

Putting things together – _creation –_ was such a harder task. And in many ways he had only ever truly succeeded in the endeavor twice before. Despite countless errors. 

But, as he often told himself, Edison did not succeed with the first bulb.

Finally, the metaphorical seal broken, protocol reneged, the Director of Project Freelancer was able to bring FILSS online once again.

“WARNING. It appears that there is s-s-s-s-s-some  
CORRUPTION  
INCRIPTION UNLOCKED  
ACCESS GRANTED Oh! D-D-Director. Is that you?”

“Yes, FILSS,” the old man sighed tiredly, dropping into his seat and pulling off his glasses. He rubbed at his eyes, not even having the energy to shrug off the thermal coat he had worn during his secretive travel to the base. “I fixed you by activating you in a remote location. Your backups would be secure here even if under attack at our high priority facility.”

“That is very thoughtful of you, Director,” FILSS hummed, voice coming in warmer and clearer each passing moment. 

“It is neither. It’s simply what is necessary for the continuation of my experiments,” he replied harshly.

“Of course, Director. What can I do to facilitate your further experimentation? I am currently only reading _your_ vitals in this facility, and surely there is plenty of work for just one person.”

“You only need to provide me with one thing,” the Director said, looking to the massive station before him. 

“What is that, Director?”

“Give me the status of the Alpha.”


	52. Recovery Zero XVI: Within Reach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EVERYTHING’S COMING TOGETHER. almost. Sort of. You’ll see what I mean : ) 
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @icefrozenover, @washingtonstub, @freshzombiewriter, @scribbleboxfox, @notatroll7, DuchessPoint, Yin, @every-survival, and Minerva for the feedback!

She found herself asking, more than once, _why were they doing this._ And while normally that would have been a rhetorical and even hysterical question to ask, Carolina was still getting accustomed to the idea that her mind – and thus, those answers, were no longer simply her own. 

“I thought it was pretty clear why we were doing this,” Epsilon spoke up, looking at her from over her shoulder. 

“Covert, Epsilon. We’re doing _covert_ surveillance,” Carolina reminded him in a snappish whisper. 

She shifted from her squatted position – still far behind the compound and in the snowy banks. It was unlikely that these soldiers – all simulation troopers from the looks of them – were going to catch onto them any time soon. But she still hadn’t had any sights on Wyoming. 

And _he_ was the one that she was concerned about. 

Which, again, made this entire operation, once again, _questionable._

Epsilon pouted, so much as an artificial intelligence could. “I’m just saying, I thought we were doing it to help your friend–”

“Texas is _not_ my friend,” Carolina corrected. 

“You should probably tell _her_ that, then, because she sure as hell seems to be putting a whole lot of trust in you guys. I mean. Even York was kinda more prone to questioning than–”

“Don’t bring up York,” Carolina warned dangerously, her eyes focused on her AI for extra emphasis. It worked and Epsilon fell back slightly, shoulders of his sprite lifted high. “Don’t bring up York while we’re doing this dumb mission _you’re_ so excited about. And _especially_ don’t bring up York around her.”

“She doesn’t like York?” Epsilon asked curiously.

“They were… I don’t know. They were friends,” Carolina spat out, looking back to the fortress in the snow and making sure to count the seconds between patrols. 

They were inconsistent – disorganized. 

That _could_ work in their favor. Or it could work against them – Carolina was not a fan of unpredictability, after all. 

“So we’re not allowed to be friends with Texas,” Epsilon pushed for more information, as if their brain was not a two way street and Carolina understood _exactly_ what his angle was.

Letting out a growl, Carolina snapped back, “Why do you _care?”_

“Hey, I’m just trying to make sure we’re on the same page here, Cee. Trying to make sure I understand all the rules. Being a good partner. Making your life easier and all that stuff a good AI partner is supposed to, calm down,” Epsilon said with a shrug.

Rolling her eyes somewhat petulantly, Carolina shook her own head. “You have _far_ from made my life any easier, Epsilon.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. Which means I deserve some leniency for at least trying, right?” he asked. 

“No,” Carolina said. “Okay, there’s no patterns in the rotations but we’ve at least got a count on the soldiers.”

“ _And_ at least five options for a plan of attack,” Epsilon said just as five different maps loaded across Carolina’s HUD. 

“What?” she said, glancing over them.

“Trying that whole making your life easier thing, being an AI and whatnot,” Epsilon said, a flicker of greenish-blue across his projection.

“You’re doing it again,” Carolina said, pausing. “The green projection. It’s–”

“It’s not _really_ Delta,” Epsilon admitted somewhat sheepishly. “But… I miss him. And he helps me think.”

“You split,” Carolina said quietly.

“No,” Epsilon said quickly. “I just… I need to do things. Things to make all the… all the different parts of me make sense. I need voices to talk back to – in my own time. I need them the way you need me.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?” Carolina asked lowly. “I don’t want you breaking up bits of _my_ brain. It gives me enough challenges intact.”

“I know, I live in there,” Epsilon attempted to joke back. But when Carolina didn’t laugh with his pause, Epsilon sighed and hugged his shoulders. “I would never hurt you, Cee.”

“Not on purpose,” Carolina said softly. 

“Not _ever,”_ Epsilon argued, so ignorant of his own history still. “Which is why, even though Tex is a hot piece of circuit breakers, I’m totally respecting your nonsensical hatred of her and _not_ going to ask her to exchange binary.”

Nose curling beneath her helmet, Carolina stunted a shutter. “I don’t even fully comprehend what you were suggesting and I’m disgusted. Have higher standards.”

“Well, I mean, it’s not like anyone can beat you in a fair fight, right?” Epsilon joked. “I have to lower a bit.”

All humor escaping her, Carolina selected one of the attack plans Epsilon had singled out and then began to quietly move back toward where the ship was hidden. “ _Tex_ beat me.”

“Oh, so I _do_ have remarkable standards,” Epsilon said.

Letting out a furious growl, Carolina threw her fist into the nearest rock facing, snow shifting above them, nearly threatening to blow all their cover. 

Fortunately for them, the simulation troopers patrolling not only didn’t see them, but managed to look in the wrong direction and start blaming each other for the commotion. 

Wyoming’s hiring policies must have been pretty subpar. 

“Whoa!” Epsilon cried out, appearing in front of Carolina’s face. “Would you calm down? You’re going to get us found out! You’re going to get _yourself_ killed!”

“And what does that matter to _you,_ Epsilon?” Carolina snarled. “What’s that matter to anyone? What am I at the end of the day to _anyone_ compared to _her?_ Why do people either leave and never come back or decide I’ll never be good enough? Why is _no one_ on my side!?”

“Hey!” Epsilon said, voice stronger than Carolina had ever heard it. He stood his ground, sprite bright in front of her. “I’m on your side. I’m always on your side.”

She was ready to discount the cold comfort of his words, to spit back out the first retort that came to mind, but instead she found herself staring at Epsilon with a slackened jaw. He was part of her, part of her _mind,_ and she could feel the meaning of his words stronger than even she had felt Eta and Iota. 

He meant it. Epsilon really meant it.

“I just don’t think me being on your side has to mean we’re _against_ everyone else,” Epsilon explained. “C’mon, Cee. You’re a team _leader._ You know how to play nice with people. And I like Tex. I think she’s what we need to get to the bottom of this. She’s another AI, and I don’t have Delta – well, the _real_ Delta – to coach me anymore, right? Maybe this is all… I don’t know. The way things work out.”

“Don’t say something stupid,” Carolina warned, glaring at her AI. “Don’t tell me that _everything’s meant to happen_ or–”

“Hell, no,” Epsilon said. “Bad shit happens all the time and makes no sense. I don’t remember much, but I _know_ that. It’s written into my code. But… I think things happen, and you use ‘em or lose ‘em. Right?”

Carolina tilted her head, a bit in awe of the AI. She huffed then continued sneaking them back to the ship. “When did you get so intellectual, Epsilon?”

“Hey, when you’re a nonstop working computer brain, I figure intellect’s about the only thing you got,” he said self-depreciatingly. “So I won’t get cozy with Tex.”

“And I won’t threaten to kill her,” Carolina agreed. “But it’s _hard.”_

“Hey! _Promises,”_ Epsilon responded cheekily just as they entered the ship. He glanced toward Tex and Niner then flickered off, almost obediently. 

Though, Carolina had some suspicion it had to do with the uncomfortable way Tex leered at him every time he made his presence known. 

“What’ve you got?” Niner broke the ice impatiently. 

“A plan of action, if Tex can coordinate and work _fast_ as a _team,”_ Carolina said accusingly, ignoring the internal groaning from Epsilon. When Tex tilted her head and crossed her arms, Carolina let out her own sigh of aggravation and put her hands on her hips. “Look, we can do this. I’ll even have Epsilon send over the specs for it. But _I’ve_ worked with teams before. _You_ haven’t. I don’t know how well you’ll take orders.”

“I won’t,” Tex said clearly. 

“Well, fantastic. Great start,” Carolina snapped, throwing up her hands. “You know, I don’t even know why we agreed to get this far–”

“Okay, Carolina, hold on a second,” Niner said. “Now, seriously, both of you _cut the shit._ I’m not your nanny. I’m your getaway driver. And neither of you are much use to me if you put a blemish on my record by not _getting away alive._ You going to fuck with my record, ladies?”

"No, ma’am,” both Carolina and Texas said in unison. 

“Good,” Niner huffed, rolling her chair toward the command computers in the cockpit again. “I’ll run correspondence on a private line from in here. And I’ll know _exactly_ which one of you hotheads blows our plan through doing so. _So don’t test me.”_

Nodding, Carolina responded with a simple, “Thanks, Niner.” She then turned to head out the door again only to walk into Tex who had somehow managed to sneak up behind her. “What–”

“Before we go, we’ve got to deal with your signal transmission,” Tex announced sternly.

Immediately filled with defensiveness, Epsilon appeared over Carolina’s shoulder. “Hey! I’ve been covering my butt since the second we got here–”

“Not _your_ signal,” Tex snapped and then nodded to Carolina. “Hers. It’s radiating like a goddamn beacon.”

“What are you talking about?” Carolina asked before realization hit her. She waved to her armor’s chest. “My _Recovery_ beacon? That’s more masked than _any_ equipment you’ve probably got on you. And, what’s more, _no one_ outside of this ship… this ship and _one_ other person knows about it. It can’t be traced without being known about.”

She gritted her teeth, fully prepared to defend not telling Tex just _who_ the other person was, but it fortunately did not come down to that. 

“Really? Then how do _I_ know about it?” Tex demanded. 

Carolina audibly snapped her mouth closed at the question, realizing that the argument was not going in her favor thus far. “I don’t know, you’re a smart AI. You probably began scanning for it after realizing I was alive. What do you want? A cookie?”

“I want you to mask the signal,” Tex said simply. “If _I_ found it on accident, how long do you think it’ll take the combined forces of Gamma and Omega to find it once guards start turning up missing or being found dead?” 

A terse silence took over between them.

Epsilon looked back and forth before awkwardly forcing a cough. “Well, I mean, there _is_ a point there, Cee.”

Carolina visibly hesitated. Those thoughts of York itched at the back of her mind like a bad memory, always just under the surface, and trying to dig their way back out to the surface. 

It was something… it was something _unfinished._

And her memories were even longer than Epsilon’s, it seemed. 

“I was supposed to leave them on for someone,” she defended the beacon.

“Would that someone want you dead?” Tex asked crudely. “Because that’s the options we’re looking at right now, Carolina.”

Squaring her jaw, Carolina huffed and looked to Epsilon’s sprite.

“Can you turn off my Recovery beacon?” she asked, as if she didn’t already know the answer.

“Consider it done,” Epsilon answered before flickering off.

“Good,” Tex said, finally moving out the door. “Let’s do this… _leader.”_

Carolina scowled and followed.

* * *

As much as he hated to do it, York knew he had to pace himself – take breaks and rest, even if he didn’t even fully sleep while he did so. Those injuries weren’t _nothing_ and the fact that his suit’s power was still at least partially diverted to his healing unit meant even worse. 

He couldn’t go nonstop, but he _did_ keep going.

It hadn’t made a lot of sense to him back when Carolina originally did it – when she gave him the way to track her beacon while removing his. At first it was just a sign of trust, the kind of sign they needed to move forward with _whatever_ they were to each other. 

But as he had no one to think with but himself, he found himself reflecting on that choice more and more.

It wasn’t simply that she needed to have his trust. She was trusting _him,_ as well. And she was doing that by giving him the option of going with the hopes that he wouldn’t.

Laying back under the bushes he had himself and his vehicle in, York realized how dumb – how _stupid_ – he was to have broken that trust. 

“Man, what an asshole,” York muttered to himself. 

He then paused, waiting. 

His brain felt numb, even _deflated,_ as the familiar hum never came. As the opportunity to berate him in good humor was not taken up by the empty space. 

Chewing on his lip, York pulled up Delta’s audio file again, to help just _pretend_ his brain was still full of facts and logic and the partnership he couldn’t even begin to put into words. 

The last few times York was able to get anything resembling sleep, it was in the middle of Delta’s departure video. York had just about every word of it memorized. 

He didn’t have the mind for numbers and theories that Delta had – never even _tried_ keeping up with the AI. And why would he? Delta had it covered. 

But more and more York was taking comfort in memorizing. In remembering things, _details,_ just to keep his mind running. 

As long as he did that, it didn’t feel so empty anymore. 

Once the recording ended, York ready to drift into semiconsciousness and then, _hopefully,_ sleep, he instinctively pulled up the coordinates of Carolina’s Recovery beacon. 

Figuring out the miles between them – simple math, math he could do alone – was another small comfort. 

Except he didn’t find that comfort. 

In shock, York sat up ramrod straight, nearly making himself dizzy and nauseous with it. But he ignored the vertigo, ignored the pain of injuries jarred by his movements. 

Ignored it all and stared, mortified, at the update to his HUD. 

_Carolina’s beacon was no longer on the grid._

“What the fuck?” he said out loud, pulling up his last log of it, comparing, getting confused. 

Did she not want him to find her now? Did something happen to her? Was she captured?

York didn’t know, but he was about to find out. 

Completely awake and with adrenaline rushing through him, York leaped up and moved toward his mongoose and readied to drive in the direction of Carolina’s last beacon transmission when everything changed.

He heard the aircraft before he saw it. He looked up, recognizing the markings on the wings as the vehicle flew low overhead and toward the opposite direction. 

"What the hell,” he muttered. “ _Charon Industries?_ That… _can’t_ be a coincidence.”

It could have been, of course. York nearly waited to hear the statistical possibility that the rival institute would be on the Freelancer controlled planet. After all, Tex had showed him that they _weren’t_ Insurrectionists after all, as horrifying as that realization had been.

But there was no little voice muttering probabilities in the corner of his mind. There was only dullness where a hum had once resonated. 

And the only one second guessing York was himself. Something he had never been that great at. 

“Well, let’s see how deep _this_ rabbit hole goes,” York decided, turning the mongoose and heading after the ship.

* * *

Carolina had to hand it to Epsilon, the AI could actually make _quite_ the plan of attack. 

The fortress, while heavily guarded, was still guarded by complete morons. The sorts of flunkies which Project Freelancer managed to turn into simulation troopers were not chosen without reason. 

While Tex flanked right, Carolina flanked left. 

She easily moved silently through the soldiers. One moment, Epsilon would have her armor’s color change from red to blue as necessary and she sneaked past guards only to silently take them out from behind. 

It was covert operations, it was her _specialty._ And Carolina was almost able to lull herself into simply rolling with the motions. 

At least, until she was backing up and hit against something invisible.

“Hey!” Tex growled at the same time as Carolina turned with her gun aimed and yelled, “Hey!” herself. 

Tex dropped her active camo and they stared at each other for a moment, guns up. 

Epsilon appeared over Carolina’s shoulder and looked back and forth between them. “Ladies…”

“I took out twelve,” Carolina announced. “If you were able to take out the same amount there’s still three more guards–”

“Nope, I actually took out _fifteen,”_ Tex said. “We’re covered.

“What?” Carolina hissed, dropping her gun and looking incredulously at Epsilon. “Epsilon!”

“What?” he called out. “What’d I do?”

“You gave her the side with the most soldiers?” Carolina growled.

“What’s it matter? I took them all out. Now we have to go for Wyoming,” Tex grunted. 

“I didn’t mean to! I mean, maybe. It’s not what you think–” Epsilon attempted to defend himself just before there was a revving of an engine. “Oh what the fuck is going on _now!?”_

Just as the words left Epsilon, the doors behind Tex and Carolina burst open beneath the wheels of a warthog flying through the air, landing front wheels first, and driving directly into Tex, giving Carolina time to move only thanks to her speedboost. 

 _TEX!!!_ Epsilon all but screamed in her mind, causing Carolina to go into a full body flinch.

“Epsilon!” she hissed, sliding to a standing position away from the ongoing collision. It was enough to make the AI stop screaming and get back into full attention, turning his projection off and turning her armor color to a deep red to blend into the surroundings. 

The collision between Tex and the warthog continued, her caught on the grill before it smacked into the opposing wall. She let out a grunt, but otherwise reacted rather inhumanly to being pinned. 

Carolina nearly leaped forward to begin to help, but she paused in her tracks. 

She had known they were going after Wyoming, but seeing him there, in the seat, alive and well, was chilling. Unexpected somehow. 

They had been hunting _teammates._ Just like she had _supposed_ to have been hunting Maine. Even if it was, in her mind, always about following him to the Director. 

Wyoming didn’t seem to hold any of those qualms. 

“Well well, look who abandoned her mates to follow me. I’m flattered, of course, but you’ll pardon me for not acting surprised, Tex,” Wyoming said calmly before looking  back toward the door and where two simulation troopers were laying on the ground. “And it seems you’ve killed my two best guards. Oh bugger.”

“Oops,” Tex gritted out. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Perish the thought, my dear. Tomorrow is pay day. You actually saved me quite a bit of money. Kill anyone else and I might have to start paying you commission,” Wyoming joked.

Tex did’t waste time, though. “Where _is_ he!?”

Wyoming sighed. “Oh, right. And here I thought you were spending all this time trying to get close to me. Tisk tisk.”

“Cut the shit!” Tex roared. “Where _is_ he?”

“Yes, he asks about you, too, Tex,” Wyoming said cryptically. “It’s almost as if you two are on the same mind.”

“That’s not funny,” Tex snapped.

“Sorry, but I can’t play matchmaker today, I’m entirely too busy,” Wyoming announced. “Seems there’s an _Alpha_ that’s still missing its _Omega.”_

“Don’t you _DARE!”_ Tex roared like some kind of caged animal, clawing at the hood of the warthog that was doing its level best to crush her into the concrete wall. Said wall cracked behind her armor. 

“Alpha?” Carolina asked. “Epsilon, which one’s–”

Suddenly, there was a primal scream. It tore through her mind, ripping through her like tissue paper. Harmonious screams behind her eyeballs, ripping through her very soul.

It was rage and it was fear. It was heartache, it was anger. It was a memory of who was and who wasn’t anymore.

They came rippling through her mind, leaving Carolina with so little control to stop herself. 

Crying out along with Epsilon, Carolina reached up and grabbed at the edges of her helmet, shaking her whole body back and forth in an effort to regain control.

The visions, the familiar faces, the names, the– 

_Sunshine–_

“Carolina!” Tex yelled, barely heard through the cacophony within Carolina’s own skull.

Her eyes rolled back and her body dropped, her mind only casually hearing the sounds of a vehicle taking off. Hardly registering the the weightlessness of being picked up.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you, kiddo,” a familiar voice said through the blinding pain.

Carolina’s face was growing wet with tears as she held onto her helmet for dear life. 

“Mom?” she asked just before everything went black.

 _I’m sorry. They were right all along. What’s… what’s_ wrong _with me?_ echoed through her skull into the dark. 

* * *

York played it safe. Maybe _too_ safe. 

He wanted a simultaneous terrain readout and a scan of the frequencies nearby the landed ship. He also wanted to divert some power from the healing unit to run all the systems together.

With Delta, he would have barely had time to think of the requests before the AI would have been bickering about how displeased he was with diverting from the healing unit.

But, once again, Delta wasn’t there. 

Instead, York skipped the terrain readout, diverted more power from the healing unit than he probably should have, and then began manually skipping through the radio frequencies.

“This sucks,” York uttered in what _had_ to be the world’s greatest understatement. 

After what felt like _forever,_ he locked onto a weak signal – a personal channel from a helmet radio. 

Perfect. 

“ _Because_ I don’t have anything else to do!” a familiar voice screamed over the crackling radio.

Immediately, York gritted his teeth. “South.”

“There’s a ship inbound for some piece of shit place called Blood Gulch. I’ll take the place of the people on that ship, it’ll work from there. It has to,” she said to whoever she was speaking to. She sounded hysterical, upset. York had a hard time feeling sympathetic. “Why? _Because we don’t have any other options._ This is _it._ This is the one. That was where he was heading. You saw it yourself.”

Dropping from the channel, York narrowed his eyes and moved back toward the mongoose. 

“I don’t know who’s heading to Blood Gulch, but I’m not letting South get there first,” he gritted out, setting his GPS. “Every time she’s a step ahead of us, it’s trouble. I’m _done_ with letting it find us instead of them.”

He started up the mongoose and began the drive, ignoring how there was no _us_ anymore.


	53. Recovery One XVI: Fulfilling Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one but only because I had WAAAAAAYYYYYYYY too much fun with the banter throughout this one like omg. It was great. I hope it’s half as enjoyable for you guys as it was for me to write haha
> 
> Special thanks to @icefrozenover, @washingtonstub, @xhauntedangel, @secretlystephaniebrown, @analiarvb, @notatroll7, Yin, @freshzombiewriter, @thatgothamgurl, Bluebird202, Linni, and monaman1 for the feedback!

Nothing was ever going to convince Washington that this was not a truly, _truly_ terrible idea. 

But, as with every other important matter he had concerned himself with since ending up among the simulation troopers of Blood Gulch, he found his complaints patently ignored. 

Honestly, he wasn’t sure how these people would survive without him, even if they didn’t seem nearly as worried. 

When he approached the encampment that Tucker and – Wash could only _sigh_ every time he remembered Caboose’s name for the damaged but dangerous Sangheilli warrior – _Crunchbite_ were settled in. The perimeter had proved itself secure an hour before, but Wash was anal retentive about safety.

Or paranoid, as Tucker constantly kept reminding him. 

When he got closer, Crunchbite’s unique grunts, honks, and _blarghs_ became apparent in a low, steady stream. Then he moved away from Tucker who, despite all logic when left alone with a crazed and easily angered alien, had only about half of his armor on. 

The simulation trooper at least had the decency to look utterly baffled. 

“Back off,” Wash said in warning to Crunchbite as the alien’s jaws quivered threateningly at him. “I said _back off.”_

After a moment, Crunchbite complied and Wash rounded on Tucker. 

“Would you stop letting him push you around?” Wash demanded. 

“Yeah, sure, Wash, I’ll get right on that,” Tucker replied sarcastically. “Would _you_ stop going off on ultra manly perimeter checks and actually keep me company while we’re with the alien with the huge dong?”

“Stop looking at it if it bothers you so much,” Wash snarked back before dropping to sit beside Tucker, though he didn’t dare remove his armor. All his bones and muscles _ached_ with injuries and overuse. 

He must have made some sort of wounded noise in doing so because Tucker was looking at him with even more concern. 

“Wash, are you going to drop dead on this journey?” he asked seriously.

“Well, considering I’ve made it this far in my life – and that’s not _nearly_ as easy as it sounds – I’m going to say… no. Probably not,” he answered somewhat cheekily. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“God, I’m so sick of your self-depreciating,” Tucker groaned. “It’s like being around Church.”

Wash raised a brow and looked Tucker’s way. “Aren’t you friends?”

“Not according to the jackass,” Tucker replied. He paused for a moment, considering something and then sighed. “Yeah, we’re friends. Fuck. That’s so lame.”

“It’s not like you have many options in that canyon,” Wash admitted. “Though, now that you all know there’s no war against… Blues and Reds, maybe you can make friends with some of them? They seem…” Wash waited for a word to come to mind. It didn’t. “Nevermind.”

“Nah, you have a point,” Tucker shrugged. “And I guess they’re okay. Now that I don’t have to irrationally hate them or anything anymore. Grif’s cool. And who doesn’t like Donut?”

Awkwardly, Wash shifted in his seat.

It didn’t go unnoticed and Tucker turned and looked at him. “You don’t like Donut? _Seriously?_ Who the fuck doesn’t like Donut–”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him! I didn’t say _anything!”_ Wash pointed out.

“Dude, you don’t have to with that expression,” Tucker scoffed.

“I’m wearing a helmet! You can’t see what I look like!”

“Dude, if you don’t think I’ve become a goddamn expert at reading body language through metal suits, you have _vastly_ underestimated my need to check out asses,” 

“I don’t hate Donut!” Wash yelled before catching himself. He shook his head and, more calmly, explained, “I don’t hate Donut. At all. But he doesn’t like me.”

“That doesn’t seem physically possible for Donut,” Tucker argued. 

“Well, he’s not without reason,” Wash explained. 

“What’d you do? Call his armor pink?” Tucker interrogated.

“No,” Wash admitted lowly. “I… shot a Red in front of him.”

“Holy shit, how’d I miss this? Which one?” Tucker asked. 

“None of the ones we know,” Wash explained. “It was the Red who shot me – before I met you all in Blood Gulch. He was working with Wyoming back at Sidewinder and I killed him.”

Tucker blinked widely at him for a moment before snorting, taking Wash completely aback.

“What you killed one dude we don’t know? What the fuck does he care? He blew up Tex, and the Reds had no idea she was a robot!” Tucker laughed.

Wash stared at Tucker for a moment before feeling a frown tug at his face. “It’s… You all thought you were at war. He was protecting people. I know better – I’m not like you all. I don’t have that excuse of plausible deniability. I…” Wash looked away, thinking about the Red that shot him in the back. “I enabled a system that’s using all of you. That’s demeaning your lives. And I didn’t care about anyone else abused by that system but me. I couldn’t see past my own hindrance by Freelancer, past wanting revenge on someone who was being ground down by it, too.”

Silence fell between them for a long, uncomfortable moment. 

“Well,” Tucker said. “Shit. I kinda hate you now, too.”

“You’re hilarious,” Wash sighed. “But, seriously, your first reaction to finding out all of this was fake was to question everyone, to not want to kill the Reds anymore, to reach out. I’ve… God, who knows how many simulation troopers I used as disposable before now.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t kidding, you keep going and I might use my fucking fantastic sword of specialness on you,” Tucker said, his dark eyes piercing through Wash. “That’s fucked up, Wash. But… At least you know it? And look, you’re with me and Crunchbite on some stupid Journey of Destiny or some shit. That’s like… I don’t know. The least self serving thing you’ve done since you arrived at Blood Gulch. Congrats!”

Taking a breath, Wash rested back against the rocks. “Yeah. It’s definitely not a pleasure cruise. I can’t even imagine what my drill sergeant would be saying at me not shooting an Elite on sight.”

“You’re telling me,” Tucker groaned. “It smells so fucking bad and every time I wake up with it hovering over me I want to kick it in its alien john thomas.”

Confused, Wash glanced sideways toward Tucker. “Why is it hovering over you? And why are you just now telling me this?”

“Because you’d come over and try to rescue me or some shit,” Tucker defended.

“Of course I would! That’s the whole point of me coming with you!” Wash yelled back.

"God, you’re so hysterical all the time, I swear,” Tucker said dismissively, beginning to put his armor back on bit by bit. 

“You’re… You’re too _chill,”_ Wash responded, as if he had a real zinger. When nothing else came to him, he got to his feet and reloaded his gun. “Shut up.”

Tucker raised an eyebrow at him before pulling on his helmet. 

It was just in time as Crunchbite came back from _wherever_ he had gone and let out a long series of unintelligible grunts and honks that Wash was _sure_ Caboose would try to make sense of but left him and Tucker simply staring. 

“Psst, Wash,” Tucker stage whispered. “What’s he want?”

“I don’t know, Tucker,” Wash sighed in aggravation, watching as Crunchbite turned and started marching toward the deserts again. “I’m sure it’s just following him. Like we’ve always been following him. This is leading us straight into some kind of trap, I swear to god.”

“Maybe _I’m_ god now that I have this sword and he’s leading _me_ to my worshippers,” Tucker said, brazenly dashing out the sword again. 

Wash eyed him. “I’d hope not.”

“What? Why?” Tucker asked. “That is the _least_ pessimistic outcome for this trip that either of us have come up with since this thing started. In fact, it sounds fucking _amazing_ to me. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.”

“You need a boost to your ego about as much as I need another bullet in me,” Wash said flatly. 

“Wow, that was almost funny. You adding that to your routine for _Hi I’m Wash and My Schtick is that I’m too Serious_ tour?” Tucker asked just as flatly in return. 

“ _Must_ you fight me on every goddamn sentence between us?” Wash sighed. 

“Oh, absolutely. Or else we’d just be silently walking through the desert behind some half-sentient alien that smells like day old elephant spunk,” Tucker replied quickly. He then let out a loud gasp. “ _That’s_ what that smell is! I finally placed it!”

Once more, Washington found himself curling his nose at Tucker. 

“How in the _world_ do you know what elephant semen smells like?” Wash asked, immediately regretting the course of action.

“Dude, _obviously_ you need to get out more,” Tucker replied with a wave of his hand.

“That answers _nothing._ Honestly, it begs more questions,” Washington replied just before there was a mighty roar from their guide. Instinctively, he drew up his gun and stepped between the alien and Tucker, Crunchbite in his sights. 

“Dude, what’s he pissed off about!?” Tucker asked, a note of genuine worry in his voice for once. 

Squinting, Wash kept his aim up. “I’m starting to realize that you’ve been asking me for translations this entire journey like you actually expect me to have them for you. So just in case I have somehow managed to not be clear enough for you yet, Tucker, let me put on the record _now_ that I have absolutely no idea how to speak outrageous honking alien dialect.”

“Oh, my god, your inability to read sarcasm is only matched by your inability to take rhetorical questions!” Tucker snapped.

In the midst of their yelling, Crunchbite lowered himself, let out another dangerous sounding snarl, and then immediately began bolting toward the desert, honking and blarghing all the way.

Wash dropped his gun some. “What the…”

“I think he thinks there’s danger ahead,” Tucker stage whispered.

“No duh,” Wash fired back before lowering down to a crouch. “Follow my lead. We’re going to follow, in stealth. We don’t know what’s going on here, and I don’t feel like getting shot alongside your elephant splooge smelling alien if there’s a platoon of soldiers up ahead or something.”

Tucker began cackling, though he did crouch and stick to the shadows with Wash. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just heard Agent Washington say _splooge.”_

 _“Focus!”_ Wash warned before leading the advance forward. 

* * *

Honestly, considering Niner’s outrage, Tex tried to think of the positives. Like how at least she hadn’t been shot the moment the pilot saw her carrying in a limp Carolina.

“What did you _do?”_ Niner demanded. “What the fuck was _that_ out there?”

“Don’t know,” Tex half lied, putting Carolina on the cot available just outside of the cockpit. “How fast can you fly this thing if I send you the coordinates?”

“Don’t you change the subject!” Niner snapped, reaching their sides and looking over Carolina. “Where’s she bleeding?”

“Nowhere. She’s not physically hurt,” Tex answered, taking note of the dried blood around the cot. They had had their fair share of close calls already, it seemed. 

“Then what the fuck happened–”

“Epsilon.”

Both women turned to look down at Carolina. The word had come out like a gasp for air and she bolted up, still rasping for air, her fingers coming up and scratching at the collar of her underarmor. 

Tex began to reach to help but Niner elbowed her out of the way and immediately began pulling off the latches for Carolina’s helmet. “Hold on, hold on, I’m gonna help you breathe,” she promised before pulling the helmet off entirely.

Carolina’s green eyes were as wide as dinner plates, darting around. “I can’t hear Epsilon, he was… That screaming, the Alpha–”

Even the bare mention of Church was enough for Tex to want to overlook everything else going on. She sent the coordinates directly to the cockpit’s computer and caused the ship to turn on remotely. 

Niner looked back and then to Tex angrily. “Are you fucking with my ship?”

“We need to get going,” Tex said plainly. 

"We _need_ to have a conversation about whatever the fuck is going on!” Niner fired back immediately.

“Epsilon,” Carolina continued, her focus was still on Niner, but her hand reached back toward her neck. “He’s not– What happened to him–”

“I have him,” Tex answered, drawing Carolina’s gaze to her and producing the chip in her hands that held the AI. She then looked to Niner who was still about as angry as Tex had seen her. “Here’s your answer as to what the fuck happened – it was Epsilon. Just like we were worried about before. Now can you get us to the coordinates I sent your ship as fast as possible? We need to beat an ATV there.”

Niner still glared at Tex suspiciously before beginning to roll toward the cockpit. “An ATV? I could beat an ATV to any coordinates even if we took an hour here.”

Still, the pilot did as told and got into her seat. 

Leaving Tex with the elephant in the room. 

Carolina was staring at her with a completely unreadable mesh of emotions. Her hand was still pressed to the back of her neck and she stared at the chip in Tex’s hand. 

“You pulled him?” Carolina asked, voice almost shaking.

“No,” Tex answered stiffly. “He ejected himself.”

As they stared at each other, lapsing into silence, the ship began to take off. Tex didn’t so much as budge even as the momentum of the ship changed. Neither did Carolina. 

“Why would he do that?” Carolina asked almost angrily. 

“Don’t know, but it was by far the smartest thing he’s done since you two got a hold of one another,” Tex answered. “He’s not a regular AI. He’s… not even a regular fragment. They’re not supposed to be broken like that–”

"Yes, they are,” Carolina snapped darkly. There was water welling in her eyes, but she quickly rubbed them clear. “They’re all broken. That’s what he does to things – leaves them broken when they’re not of use anymore. Sometimes he breaks them to use them…”

She was talking so fast that the words probably should have been taken as barely conscious gibberish. But Tex didn’t take them that way at all.

Instead, she listened to the truth of every syllable, and let it burn into her own coding. 

“Yes,” she finally agreed. “Epsilon’s broken.”

“That’s why I need him,” Carolina said, sniffing and rubbing at her face still. “I… Thank you. For gabbing him. But when I… When I have more confidence he’s going back where he belongs. With me.”

“No he’s not,” Tex responded. “You’re going to kill each other–”

“No, he needs me,” Carolina argued, her green eyes darted to Tex’s face. They buried into her. “And I need him back. He’s. You don’t understand. He’s _on my side._ And I can’t let go of him. I _won’t.”_

Tex stared back, rubbing her thumb over the chip as she tried to think things through. 

“ _I_ can be on your side,” Tex offered. 

“No. You can’t,” Carolina nearly hissed. 

“I can,” Tex said firmly. “You know I can. You… You know what happened back there–”

“I made a mistake while I was confused,” Carolina snapped angrily. “Don’t you _dare_ use that to manipulate me–”

“So that’s it. We’re just not going to talk about it?” Tex asked. She wasn’t angry, disappointed some. But not angry. Or surprised for that matter. 

"What is there to talk about?” Carolina asked icily. She then looked at Tex with the shell shocked expression fading. “What is there, huh? You’re six inches taller than her. Your voice is different. You’re a _computer_ program. I made a mistake under stress. I need to talk to Epsilon, so give him to me.”

Tex made no motion to offer the chip over. 

The tension grew at an exponential rate, Carolina’s shoulders began trembling. “You’re not _her!_ Alright? You’re _not!_ And I am not going to discuss this any further with you–”

“I know I’m no one else,” Tex snapped back. “I’m myself. I’ve always been myself. I’m not what _anyone else_ tries to make me. Never have been. That’s why I betrayed him–”

“ _STOP_ talking about him!” Carolina snarled.

“It’s why we’re heading back to Blood Gulch right now and helping Wash protect the Alpha. Because that’s _my_ choice and those are _my_ people down there. Including the Alpha. Including Wash. Including my gaggle of losers,” Tex continued.

“I don’t know what you’re even talking about anymore,” Carolina hissed. “I don’t care who your people are.”

“That’s fine,” Tex responded. “I’m making the point, though, that I know _exactly_ who I am. I fought my way, tooth and nail, clawed myself out of the hell of _his_ making in order to find out just who I was. And I’m goddamn proud and goddamn _protective_ of that.” She tilted her head. “So the only factor I have to worry about is whether or not _you_ know I’m not her.”

“Of course I do–”

“Because he never got it,” Tex said flatly. 

Carolina’s eyes were like cool fire. Explosive, painful. 

“You’re not my mother,” Carolina said angrily. “She’s dead.”

“I know,” Tex said softly. “And I’m sorry for that.” 

“Why are we doing this?” Carolina asked. 

“Because I need to make sure – make for sure for _real_ – that you know that we’re different,” Tex said simply. “You have a one track mind, Carolina. You want revenge. And you won’t be getting it on my… on Church. My Church. He’s not _him._ And I’m not _her.”_

"Good,” Carolina said shortly.

Tex let there continue to be a tight silence again before she moved toward Carolina and held out the Epsilon chip. “Fine. Just make sure _he_ knows the difference now, too. Him being Epsilon does not make him the Alpha or _him._ And as long as he struggles with figuring that out, this little _hiccup_ won’t be a one off issue for you.”

Carolina quickly grabbed the chip and looked to it before glancing toward Tex again. “Did you know? Did you _ever_  know?”

Staring back at Carolina, Tex squared herself. “Not really. No. Maybe a little. Toward the end, once I… Once Connecticut left me the message to inform me who I was.”

Lip curling, Carolina’s hands tightened into fists. “You killed her. She was doing the right thing. The _only_ one of us doing the right thing.”

“I know,” Tex said lowly. “Now _I’m_ trying to do the right thing.”

* * *

They lost sight of Crunchbite fairly early on. That would make sense considering the alien was charging headlong into the desert while Washington forced himself and Tucker to keep to the shadows, moving barely at a crawl. 

“This is so stupid,” Tucker whined again.

“Well, I agree. But one of us had to think he was some chosen one and follow a barely sentient monster halfway across the planet,” Wash hissed over his shoulder.

“God, I can’t stand you when you get so uptight,” Tucker said with a giant full body shrug. “I’m just glad that Church isn’t here or else I’d be getting shit from _both_ of you at the same time you two would be strangling each other.”

Wash let out a huff. “He couldn’t take me.”

“Oh my god, did Freelancer _require_ everyone to be full of themselves or is it just something besides banging that you and Tex share?” Tucker snapped.

“We never–” 

“Alright fuckers!” 

The new voice called out from across the dunes ahead of them, shocking them both. Wash held out his arm as if to stop Tucker which only got an annoyed groan from him. Washington didn’t care. He was staring straight ahead at the source of the intercom. 

“I know you’re there, assholes! This is _highly classified terrain_ and you do _not_ have clearance to come any closer to the dig site!” 

“Yeah, well, I’m the fucking chosen one, so I think that’s my clearance!” Tucker yelled back.

“Tucker, shut up! You’re giving out position!” Wash snapped.

“Dude, aren’t you listening? They already have our position. If we’re fucked we’re fucked,” Tucker replied sharply. “Like when you fucked Tex behind Church’s back.”

“I _didn’t!”_ Wash yelled, voice cracking. 

“What the hell – chosen one?” the person said, more muddled, probably away from his intercom. “Okay whatever. I don’t give a fuck. Come out with your hands up. Weapons holstered! I’m not even _remotely_ in the area of fucking around!” 

“Is that why they gave _you_ the intercom?” Tucker yelled back.

"Tucker,” Wash all but groaned.

“Look, dude, we’re fucked one way or the other, at _least_ allow me to have my sense of humor,” Tucker shrugged before standing up and putting his hands up. 

Wash blinked before looking at Tucker mortified. “What are you doing?”

Tucker tilted his head toward Wash. “Uh… _Not_ getting shot? Have you ever tried giving that a chance? Oh, wait. Forgot who I was talking to. Of _course_ you’ve never taken the _not getting fucking shot_ option.”

“I…” Wash began to argue but he found it difficult to parse even in his own mind. With a long sigh, he holstered his rifle over his shoulder and stood up beside Tucker, hands up.

“See? Was that so hard?” Tucker asked. 

“I’m a wanted man on this planet,” Wash reminded him. “We may have just surrendered ourselves to being shot regardless. Just in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t, I just remembered that _you’re_ the wanted one. Not me,” Tucker half shrugged. “Besides, do you know how many people there are in the world with armor? I think every goddamn person on this planet is in this armor. You really think you’re the only one with gray armor and a yellow stripe?”

There was an audible sneer from the intercom. “ _A Freelancer.”_

“Yes,” Washington said flatly.

“Oh, well, you’re fucked. I’m just another dumb Blue,” Tucker joked. 

“You’re hilarious,” Wash said dryly. He then looked toward the sound. “I’m from Command. I have been hired to transport this Blue from his station to your Command center. We’re merely passing through. There’s no need for alarm.”

Tucker tilted his head even more. “Man, you’re way too good at lying.”

“Tucker, shut up, for both our sakes,” Wash hissed out of the corner of his mouth. 

“No. No you haven’t,” the voice on the intercom said, coming forward from the sand dunes and revealing a very familiar brown armor.

Wash visibly flinched at the sight of it – that armor. _Connie’s_ armor. But it wasn’t his friend wearing it – too tall and broad. The fit was wrong. And any PFL insignias were scratched off of it. 

Apparently sensing the intensity radiating from Wash, Tucker turned more toward the former Recovery agent and said in a highly concerned tone, “Uh… _Wash?_ You alright–”

“Where did you get that armor!?” Wash growled at the man.

“From a _friend,”_ the man snapped back. “And I know exactly why you two are here. You’re here to take what we’ve uncovered from the alien ruins for yourselves. For Freelancer.”

“No we aren’t!” Tucker yelled back. “Wait… Actually I don’t know. Are we? That kinda _sounds_ like a part of the Chosen One journey, doesn’t it?”

Wash was far beyond paying attention to Tucker and the nonsense of their journey anymore. The current threat, and the immediate outrage he was feeling toward this unexpected reminder of the past, was eclipsing everything else. 

“You need to remove that armor right now,” Wash said, dropping his hands. “That isn’t _yours.”_

Tucker’s shoulders raised defensively. “Wash… dude… What’re we doing?”

“You Freelancers are so full of shit,” the man in Connie’s armor snapped. “ _I’m_ the one in charge here, and even if I wasn’t, I’d shoot you right between the eyes for what your program did to my friends, did to _Connie_ , and how every second I spend on this soul sucking planet, digging in dirt and securing ridiculous artifacts for these fuckers in charge, I can feel myself go a little more crazy.”

“You should try living here without any supply drops for a few months,” Tucker attempted to alleviate the tension. “If anyone here has a right to be pissed off or crazy, it’s probably me and the others in Blood G–”

“Don’t give him location names,” Wash stopped him short.

“Shut the fuck up, Sim Trooper, I’ve got no orders to keep any of you alive or to salvage your equipment. So when I kill _you_ I’m just going to fuck you over however I want!”

“Bow Chicka Bow Wow–”

“Don’t you _dare_ threaten him!” Wash yelled. “You won’t even have a chance when I’m done with you–”

The mysterious man raised a gun and pointed it right at Wash. “Come on, Freelancer. Make my fucking day!”

Then, Tucker did something outrageously stupid. 

“Okay, well, let’s go a single day _without_ Wash getting shot,” Tucker said before pulling out his sword and igniting it. 

“Tucker!” Wash snapped, alarmed as the man’s attention fell on Tucker.

“You… _You have it!?”_ the man growled. 

“Yeah!” Tucker yelled. “Whatever… _it_ is!”

“The key!” the man cried out. “The one in all the hieroglyphs! The one we _need_ to open the temple!”

“Then you’re going to need Tucker,” Wash said, thinking fast. “Because it only works for him.”

The man in Connie’s armor laughed near hysterically. “You honestly have no idea how any of this works, do you? I don’t need him. I need him _dead._ That way the key will work for the next person to activate it–”

“No!” Wash roared at the same time as Tucker cried out,  _“IT’S A FUCKING KEY!?”_

Before things could further unravel, there was a familiar honk just as Crunchbite erupted from the sands behind the raving madman in Connie’s armor. Once tackled, the man started shooting and Crunchbite began tearing and snarling and biting the man all over with the very strength and ferocity that Wash had warned Tucker about seeing in the field of the War. 

“Holy fucking shit, what is going _on?”_ Tucker cried out, looking to his sword. “It’s a _key!?”_

Wash lowered to one knee, quickly pulled his gun out from its holster and took aim. “Yes, Tucker, it seems your amazing journey is to unlock something with the key.”

He then took an active shot and drilled the man right through the helmet. He watched as he went from struggling against Crunchbite to going completely limp. 

“Oh, man, I’m so pissed about this, I think I’m getting physically sick over it,” Tucker announced, grabbing his sides and sheathing the sword. 

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Wash replied, getting to his feet and walking toward Crunchbite and their former hostage. “Uh… thank you… Crunchbite–”

The alien held back its head and released a long, single roar, revealing the multiple gunshot wounds across his torso before dropping to his knees and then fully into the sand. 

Surprised, Washington dropped down beside Crunchbite and gave him a look over just as Tucker ran over to his side. 

“Is he…?” Tucker asked, arching over Wash’s shoulder. 

“Sorry, Tucker,” Wash said, looking back to him. “Your alien expired.”

“And my sword’s a fucking key,” Tucker bemoaned. He then glanced toward the man in Connie’s armor. “And just who the fuck is this guy? What was his beef with you and alien shit?”

“I… have absolutely no idea,” Wash replied, getting to his feet and glaring at the man. “I want to say he’s not a Freelancer given what happened the last time I saw that armor it was on a… friend. A friend who betrayed the program. But…”

“But?” Tucker pressed.

“I don’t know,” Wash sighed. “Tucker, have you ever had that feeling that, I don’t know, that there’s something _much_ bigger than yourself going on? That you barely scratch the surface of it?”

Tucker stood beside him, just staring at Wash. 

Catching on, Wash nodded. “Oh, right.”

“Yeah, I mean. At this point big conspiracies are the leas surprising thing that happens around me these days,” Tucker grunted before doubling over his stomach. “Fuck. That and _intense_ fucking pain.”

Wash squinted at him. “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m legitimately sick, dude, I’m about to throw up in my helmet,” he moaned. “Maybe I’m more upset about Crunchbite sacrificing himself than I thought. Or I’m upset about the key thing. Definitely the key thing HRRK! Good thing our helmets are made for vomiting in.”

“They’re not,” Wash said flatly. “Trust me. Here– I’ll help you get that helmet off and then we’re going ho– We’re going back to Blood Gulch. I’m declaring this bullshit over. We gathered nothing from your Chosen One journey.”

As he helped Tucker take off his helmet, the man gave a low laugh. “Well, you know what they say, Wash. It’s not the journey but the friends you make on the way. And the aliens who never spoke the same language as you but smelled like elephant bunk.”

“It’s something like that,” Wash agreed, unable to stop the smile on his face, hidden beneath his helmet. “Hurry up and barf so we can leave the desert. You’re probably dehydrated.”

“God I hope so,” Tucker moaned. “Does dehydration kick you from the inside?”

Wash shrugged. “I don’t know– Wait what?”

* * *

"Tex!” Niner shouted from the cockpit. “Is this the right place? It’s the coordinates you gave me, but it’s just a box canyon.”

Not even bothering to get up from her seat, Tex answered. “Yes.”

Carolina looked up, still sitting upright with her elbows on her knees, head hung so that her mess of hair was strung across her face. When she peered at Tex, it was not exactly a look of appreciation. 

“Are you going to stare at me the whole time I’m having this _private conversation_ with Epsilon?” she asked snappishly. 

“You forget easily for someone so known for grudges,” Tex said back flatly. “He scrambled your brains and left them with a side of toast a few hours ago. My expectations for how well this is going are not high.”

“He knows what he did and he’s sorry,” Carolina answered.

“Then why doesn’t he say that himself?” Tex asked, tilting her head. 

“Because he _remembers_ things and he doesn’t want to see _you,”_ Carolina bit out. “I agree that it’s not the best idea.”

“That’s fair,” Tex said “Not healthy. Not good long term. But it’s fair.”

Neither of them said a word as the ship shifted into landing momentum. When Carolina made it obvious that she wasn’t going to be the one to break the stare, Tex let out a long sigh and got to her feet, reaching for her gun and heading toward the door to wait for it to open.

“I thought these were your people,” Carolina said, grabbing her helmet. “Why do you need a gun?”

“Because I know my people well enough to not trust them,” Tex replied dryly “They’ve killed me twice already.”

“Really?” Carolina asked, grabbing her own weapons. “I might have underestimated how much enjoyment I’ll be getting out of this.”

Tex looked over her shoulder at Carolina. “Your teamwork skills suck. Why were you getting onto _me_ about my ability to work with teams?”

The door opened without Tex getting her answer, and instead she just led the way over to Blue Base. It felt strange in her chest – like coming home. Tex didn’t exactly have much experience with that feeling, but she suspected that _this_ was what it felt like.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Carolina said, interrupting the moment and drawing Tex’s attention back to her. “Are my scanners correct? _Blood Gulch Outpost Alpha?_ Are they _that_ on the nose?”

"Basic incompetence is the name of the game,” Tex assured her just before there was a familiar rumbling of the ground. “Well, never thought I’d take comfort in _that_ feeling?”

Carolina raised her gun. “That feeling being _what_ exactly?” she asked nervously.

“ _That_ is the feeling of an approaching three ton Scorpion Tank,” Tex said. 

“And you’re not alarmed _because…?”_

“We’ve been friends since she killed me the first time,” Tex said.

It was difficult to ignore the look of scrutiny that Carolina was giving Tex as Sheila continued the approach, gun aimed, and stopped short of her.

“Oh! Agent Texas! Is that you?” Sheila asked excitedly. “I have been watching Blue Base as instructed for _so_ long! It is good to have someone back.”

Carolina dropped her gun then and tilted her head in curiosity. “FILSS?”

Sheila’s gun moved from Tex to Carolina then back. “I am confused. That is the _second_ time since my systems update that someone has addressed me as FILSS. But Church assured me while he was here that I go by the designation Sheila now. How odd. I will document these anomalies.”

Tex looked at Sheila curiously. “What– Wait, _first,_ what do you mean ‘ _while he was here’?_ Are you saying that Church isn’t here _now?_ Where the hell is he – where the hell is _everyone?”_

"Processing,” Sheila said in a gentle hum before there was an audible ding. “Oh!” Her gun turned toward the caves. “There is Agent Washington and Private Tucker approaching now! How nice to see everyone coming back together at the same time! It is most convenient!”

“Wash…” Carolina said lowly. 

“What the fuck?” Tex yelled, storming toward the two of them and ignoring Carolina’s bafflement for the moment, There were bigger fish to fry. “Wash! What the actual fuck is going on?”

“Oh shit,” Tucker moaned, arm over Wash’s shoulder. “Tex made it back before us.”

“Of course she did,” Wash said flatly. “She didn’t have to stop every ten minutes to let someone throw up.”

“Dude, I’m telling you, I don’t know what I ate to give me this!”

"Where the hell have the two of you been!?” Tex demanded. 

“It’s a long story, don’t ask,” Wash recommended. He then froze, staring just over Tex’s shoulder. He straightened up immediately, dropping Tucker to the ground with a thud and a long whine. “Boss?”

Tex glanced back toward Carolina. She stepped out to the side more to see Wash more directly and give him a half nod. “Hello, Washington.”

“But… what… _I don’t understand,”_ Wash said, looking more and more confused. “You’re here… but _how?_ Why– I mean. Hi, I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Same to you,” Carolina said tightly.

Getting angrier by the second, Tex slammed her hands together for a thundering clap and drew everyone’s attention back to her. “Wash! Where the fuck is Church and Caboose? Sheila said they left. Are they in the caves with you?”

“No?” Wash said, equally confused. “They were coming back here with the Reds. They should’ve gotten here… I don’t know, ages ago. I can’t keep track with this sun never setting.”

“You don’t know,” Tex repeated, her temper rising. “You _don’t know!?_ What the fuck, Wash, I left you in charge!”

“You left me in charge while I was dying in a pool of my own blood, as I remember correctly,” Wash snapped back. “I made the best of the situation. We had… distractions thanks to Tucker’s stupid sword.”

“What kind of distractions?” Tex all but hissed. 

“Turns out the sword’s not a sword but some kind of key to unlock something we never found because our tour guide was filled with lead before we got there,” Wash answered. “By some asshole wearing Connecticut’s armor.”

“ _What?”_ Carolina and Tex spat out at once. 

“I ran into that bastard before – York and I did at least,” Carolina informed them. “He’s one of the Insurrectionists and he was working with North and South.”

“ _What?”_ Tex and Wash took their turn saying in unison. 

“Is… Is _everyone_ alive?” Wash demanded. “Where the fuck are they all? Why didn’t anyone tell me–”

“Okay we’re getting distracted from what’s important,” Tex growled at both of them. 

"The fact that I’m dying?” Tucker complained from the ground where he was now curled up around himself. 

“No,” Tex said. She then did a double take and looked at Washington. “What’s wrong with him anyway?”

“If I knew, I’d help him more than dragging him around the desert,” Wash said. “As far as I can tell it has something to do with the alien that smelled like elephant semen.”

“What?” Carolina and Tex asked at the same time.

“I mean… It smelled bad,” Wash said, shaking his head and holding up his hands. “I didn’t think it smelled like elephant semen. I mean, I don’t _know_ what elephant semen smells like. Tucker does. Apparently. It was his comparison, not mine.”

“What the fuck, did this team go completely to shit when I left?” Tex asked almost hysterically.

“Yeah, about you leaving,” Wash said, turning a critical eye toward Tex. “You going to explain yourself or apologize or _anything_ for that? We really needed you. Church really–”

“ _That’s what I’m trying to keep us on point with!”_ Tex shouted. “Where the fuck is Church!?”

“I don’t _know!”_ Wash yelled back. “Right now, I’m just trying to get Tucker to the base so he stops complaining. _That_ is my ultimate goal for the moment.”

“I’m not complaining, I’m _dying,”_ Tucker moaned.

“Shut up, Tucker,” both Tex and Wash said at once.

The ground shook once more and everyone turned to look toward Sheila as she approached them. “I believe _I_ can be of some service. Privates Church and Caboose did come here only to leave after I mentioned my conversation with Church during my upgrade. Only Church did not seem to remember what Church told me. He concluded there was another Church and took off with Private Caboose toward where I told him the transmissions of Church and my backup saved files were stored.”

Tex felt her heart – code or not – sink. 

“The Director? You told him about the Director?” Tex asked, voice tight and full of anger. “Where is he!? How are we supposed to deal with this–”

“I think I can help,” Epsilon said, finally emitting a sprite over Carolina’s shoulder, somewhat putting her between himself and Washington. “I… I _remember.”_

Carolina looked meaningfully to Tex. “We need to go.” 

“I… You’re right,” Tex agreed. She then turned and looked at Wash. “Can you handle things here?” 

“I don’t even know what I’ll be handling,” Wash replied truthfully.

“That’s okay, new Blue Teammates! I can give you the rundown!”

Everyone who was not Tucker rolled up in a ball on the ground turned on their heels and raised weapons to face at the new voice in the conversation. The source of said voice cried out and raised his hands, shaking head to boot, nearly knocking off the cheap chips of blue paint on the maroon armor. 

“Who the fuck is _this?”_ Carolina demanded. 

“I don’t… Simmons?” Tex asked, dropping her gun.

“Yes! I mean… No. Not that Red Team guy. Fuck him,” Simmons answered, hands still high in the air. 

“What are you doing here? What’d you do to your armor?” Wash demanded. 

“Red Team’s all obsessed with the new people. Not like they took me – I mean _him_ – seriously even when he was on that team. So. Y’know. Blue Team, whoo,” Simmons responded. 

Tex couldn’t even begin to bring herself to care about the situation any further. She looked at Wash. “If I go get Church and Caboose, kill a fucker, and get back here, will this all be cleared up?”

“Not even remotely,” Wash answered. 

“Okay, I’ll be right back. Sheila’s in charge,” Tex announced, walking back toward the ship. 

“New Red Team guys?” Carolina asked before looking to Tex. “I thought you said we were only worried about Blue.”

“We’re not even worried about Blue, there’s too many Blue Team Problems to deserve worrying about,” Tex responded. “C’mon, let’s not waste anymore time. Looks like you and I both are going to get what we want at the same place.”


	54. Recovery Two XVI: No Rest for the Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a difficult chapter to write mostly because, well, what do you do when you kill a main POV character? You get ridiculous, that’s the Rena way ; ) Oh and also very angsty. 
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @analiarvb, @thepheonixqueen, @icefrozenover, @washingtonstub, @roosterteeth-rvb-rwby-is-my-life, @every-survival, Linni, Meep, SenpaiGabby, Yin, @notatroll7, and @freshzombiewriter for the feedback!

_North! NOOOOORTH! NOOOOOO!_

The pounding between her eyes were like little fists attempting to beat their way out of her skull. But South ignored them. She ignored the way the cracks and breaks through her visor and HUD made her dizzy. She ignored how her fist burned from the sparks that had made it through the armor mesh when she slammed her fist through the console. 

South concentrated on getting them in the air and away – far away. Further away than she could have ever managed if she gave even _one iota_ of a fuck about the tantrum the literal child was throwing in between her ears at the moment. 

_You’re awful! I hate you! You killed him! You left him for dead! How could you? Why would you? I hate you! I hate you!!!_

Maybe it was something that they had never bothered to teach her since she wasn’t implanted by the program, maybe it was something they had and she hadn’t listened out of spite during their lessons. 

But at a certain point the noises in your brain blur into a sort of cacophony where her thoughts and the thoughts of the AI were on rhythm Where the pulse in the back of her brain lined up with the beating of her heart. Where the outrage and the anger and the hurt and mourning all tuned to a single note and exploded within her. 

Yeah. North was fucking _dead._ And she left him to it. 

 _I hate you,_ said _someone_ in her brain. But Theta was busy crying audibly on her shoulder. Mumbling and rocking back and forth through his tears. And hers. 

“Shut up!” South finally screamed at him. “Shut up shut up shut _the fuck up!”_ Theta cried even louder. South’s vision blurred, her headache got worse. “I’m trying to save our lives so shut the fuck up! Shut up while I get us far away from Charon and North and Freelancer and every single fucker on this planet. Shut up so I can save us! Shut up so he didn’t die for no reason!” 

Theta didn’t stop crying. And South didn’t stop hating herself, no matter how many times she checked the miles they had traveled or the scanner for any vehicles tailing them. 

Two hundred miles, she flew lower, below detection levels. Theta’s tears weren’t letting up. She engaged autopilot after ensuring that her destruction of the console hadn’t also disabled it in some way. Her cheeks were cold and clammy with the wetness. After she set their course for another two hundred miles to separate themselves from the carnage, South could turn away from the controls. Her arms were shaking now that they no longer had preoccupation.

When all was said and done, South threw off her helmet against the nearest wall and released a deep, curdling scream. 

As the helmet bounced back toward her, she kicked it with all her might then ripped the pilot’s chair from the bolts in the floor. 

She screamed, she screamed until Theta was no longer crying, until she couldn’t smash anything anymore because there was nothing left. 

South screamed until her throat felt torn and her voice was gone. Until the shaking of her knees became so much that she collapsed on the ground and curled into it, head resting against the floor as she let out unfamiliar noises from deep within her chest. 

There was _nothing_ left. 

She had nothing left. 

* * *

 

…

 

* * *

Silence had taken over from the awful screaming. 

The ship continued on course without South’s direction.

Instead, she sat to the side of the cockpit, her eyes glazed over as she sat with her back to the wall. At some point, her helmet had ended up back in her lap. It was dented in, broken. The main object of her abuse in the seemingly endless lapse of time. 

Her gaze was kept on the visor and its jagged, broken pieces. But she wasn’t looking at the helmet, not really. 

Really she wasn’t even looking at it as she pushed her thumbs against the fragile glass, listening to the satisfying crunch as it caved in. 

Broken glass littered her lap and the floor. 

She was a mess.

Theta appeared over her shoulder. He kept doing that – showing up from time to time. Without invitation. 

He was buzzing with business in her brain, but it was too fast for her, even if she had cared to pay attention to it. She didn’t care what he was doing. He wasn’t screaming anymore and she liked it better when he was screaming at her. 

More glass broke off and fell into her lap.

“They keep trying to shut down your armor,” Theta finally said out loud. 

“ _They_ ,” she repeated, tasting each syllable. It was ashen and bare.

South was _really_ getting to hate that taste.

Theta stared at her, his projection crossing further into her field of vision when he realized she wasn’t going to give him the dignity of looking at him directly. “Charon,” he clarified. “They keep trying to shut down your–”

“I _know_ who you meant by _they,”_ she spat back, breaking the glass further in on her helmet. When Theta allowed the silence to take over again, South growled, grip tightening on her helmet until it was shaking. “I guess it’s a  goddamn good thing I have _you_  then, isn’t it? How _fortunate_ of me! To have an AI all of my own now. That extra piece to help me climb up on the totem pole of life. Look at me, finally proving the whole _goddamn world_ wrong! At last!” She then raised her helmet. “All it took was _my fucking brother!”_

The helmet crashed against the other side of the cockpit. Theta was left flickering back into place after his projection had been interrupted. 

They stared at each other for a long time, the engine of the ship roaring beneath them. 

South couldn’t take it. 

“Why are you still here,” she said more than asked of the AI. “Why haven’t you done something smart. Something… I don’t know. Give me a brain aneurysm? End all this bullshit? Get revenge for North.”

“I don’t do stuff like that,” Theta defended, almost sounding offended. 

“You could, though, couldn’t you?” South snorted. “It’s amazing. The kind of shit we’re all capable of at the end of the day. Just need a little push. Need a little threat to survival.” Her eyes fell heavily on the sprite. “It’s funny. When I _did_ pay attention to those lessons in Freelancer, they always talked like there was some kinda imbalance. That _we_ were your guardians, that _we_ were in control of the AI. And the way you and North worked, I was stupid enough to buy into it.”

With a thud, South dropped her head back against the wall, her eyes finding interest in the ceiling. “Humans can’t control _anything.”_

Theta let her stew in the statement for a few minutes before he set off a dazzling spark of fireworks, drawing South’s attention and confusion. 

“We control ourselves,” he pronounced firmly. “Humans, that is.”

South scowled. “You’re _not_ human,” she reminded him.

“I want to survive,” Theta said firmly. “What’s more human than that?”

She stared at him for another tense silence before scowling. “What do you want from me?”

“An idea,” Theta said honestly. 

“My ideas will get us killed,” she said. 

“Or they’ll get us _free,”_ Theta said firmly. 

South pressed her lips to a thin line. “I shouldn’t be trusted. I’ll save my own neck above anything else, kid. You know that.”

“I know,” Theta said. “But I trust you.”

“You trust me?” South scoffed. 

“I do,” Theta nodded. 

“That’s idiotic,” South snapped. “You saw what happens when people trust me, kid. I know you’re not _that_ dumb.”

Theta was undeterred. “It’s my nature,” he said. “I trust you.”

South’s cheeks were beginning to feel cold and wet again. “Can you… Can you scan radio waves? Listen in for anything?” she asked. 

“Yeah, I can do that,” Theta said. 

“Okay,” South said with a sniff, roughly rubbing her face with her gauntlets. “We need to find another ship. A ship with someone else already in it.”

* * *

…

* * *

"Okay, this one coming in only has three soldiers boarded. They seem to be the survivors of some place called Valhalla? I guess they’re Reds,” Theta tracked. 

The little AI was sitting cross-legged about four feet from South while she continued to break out the glass in her visor. Pressing piece by piece through with her thumbs. Her lap and the floor was covered in shining green. 

“No,” she said clearly. “If they managed to kill the other team at their base and there’s three of them, they’re just dumb enough and lucky enough to get a lucky shot. I don’t feel up to a big fight right now. And neither do you.”

He didn’t argue with her, glancing over her before nodding and continuing to scan the the airways. 

South stopped her newly formed habit for a moment, looking with some distress at the helmet. 

The helmet to her Charon experimental armor. The armor that, in many ways, begun the descent into madness where she currently found herself. 

Bearing her teeth, South listened to the satisfying crunch of the glass again.

“Hey, South,” Theta spoke up, drawing South’s gaze. 

“What?” she asked snappishly. 

“I get that the plan’s to take someone’s identity who’s going to leave the planet,” Theta said. “That’s why I’ve been scanning the radios since we landed. It makes _sense… “_

Eyes narrowing, South waited for the _but._

Never one to disappoint, Theta rubbed his neck. “ _But,_ what are we going to do with the real person? The person whose identity we steal? Won’t thy catch on after a while? Isn’t identity theft a big deal?”

“You found someone,” she realized.

“One passenger, heading to Blood Gulch Outpost Alpha. Female. No military experience,” Theta said lowly. 

“Good,” South said, getting to her feet. The glass from her lap fell onto the floor in a string of chiming noises. She didn’t pay it any mind. “Get ready to help the ship’s navigation to intercept the other ship. We’ll jump from above and use our grav boots. It’ll be a transport pelican so we should easily be able to access the roof hatch that way.”

South did not miss the skip of a beat in her mind as Theta processed the plan.

“Why do we have to kill someone for that?” Theta asked lowly. “That seems… like a bit much. They haven’t done anything to us–”

“ _Because_ I don’t have anything else to do!” South roared, drowning out the noise of the AI in her head. 

Somewhat surprisingly, Theta did not disappear, though. He sat before her vision, looking at her questioningly. 

It reminded her so much of North, South almost puked. 

Instead, she pointed toward the windshield. “There’s a ship inbound for some piece of shit place called Blood Gulch. I’ll take the place of the people on that ship, it’ll work from there. It has to,” she said, upset. “Why? _Because we don’t have any other options._ This is _it._ This is the one.” She then pointed back strongly toward where they came from. “ _That_ was where he was heading. You saw it yourself.”

Theta tilted his head. “So we’re running away from the Meta now?”

“Yes,” South said. “We’re surviving now. That’s… It’s the only thing that matters.”

Theta somehow refrained from calling her on the obvious. That if she had valued survival to begin with, that if she had given North input, he might have still been there with them. 

He nodded instead. “Okay. I trust you.”

South suppressed another scream.

* * *

.

* * *

Everything worked according to plan. There was the drop, her grav boots slamming into the metal of the Pelican beneath the autopiloted Charon ship. Theta whispered calculations in the back of her mind since her HUD could no longer project across her visor as he worked. 

With the augmented strength of her armor, South nearly ripped the metal clasps off the roof door before dropping down into the passenger ship with a resounding thud.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting inside, but it _wasn’t_ what she got.

“Holy fucking shit!” the naked woman said, gripping her yellow armor. “A ninja!” 

South was taken aback more than she would have liked to admit. She stood up and stared at the woman. “Why the fuck are you naked?”

“Have you ever worn one of these things?” the woman asked, holding up the breast plate. “These things are so restricting! I mean, _look_ at these puppies! How’re they supposed to fit in there? I guess I could use some lube. Wouldn’t be the first time I used ‘em on my titties.”

“Yeah,” South found herself saying out of bafflement. “I mean, wait, what?”

“Anyway, I was looking through my bag for the lube – I brought a ton. So if your tits are having a problem in the ninja armor you could borrow some,” she continued, running a hand through a mess of long, curly locks. “I mean, you never know how much lube you need at an army base.”

South opened her mouth, but she couldn’t find words to come out. 

Theta appeared over her shoulder just as stunned.

Head snapping back toward Theta, South leered at the little AI. “Turn off your optical receptors,” she snapped. 

“Ohhhh who’s that?” the mystery woman said, raising her brow. “I’ve never seen a gray guy _that_ little.”

“I’m not gray, I’m Red and Blue,” Theta responded, looking down to his projection. 

“You can do that?” she asked. “Shut the fuck up! The guy at the recruitment office said I had to pick one or the other. Whoo! Go Blues!”

“Theta, turn _off,”_ South demanded.

“No, little dude, it’s totes cool to stay _turned on!”_ the woman cackled. 

"I understand your breastplate is improperly sized,” South said, taking stock in just how true that statement was. “Why aren’t you wearing the rest of your attire?”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Because I drop it like it’s hot?” She then looked South over. “Are you, like, some sorta escort?”

“Something like that,” South said, fingers dancing over her gun handle. 

“Oh, good. Y’know, I used to be one of those. They dropped me after I sued them to pay for the abortions, though,” she explained flippantly.

“Yeah,” South said before shaking her head. “No. Wait, what? I’m … a soldier– aren’t you a soldier?”

“Now I am, hellsyeah!” she said, punching the air. 

South gripped her gun. “What’s your name, soldier?” 

“Private Grif,” she said easily. “But that’s gonna be confusing when we land ‘cuz I think my bro’s a private, too. So I’m just gonna go by Sister.”

Her grip on her gun slipped at the pronouncement, the gun clattering to the ground. 

“Hey,” Private Grif snorted, mid-laugh. “You dropped your gun. Or are ya just happy to see me?”

South stared at her. Stared at… _Sister._

She wanted to scream again, but it wasn’t likely to do anything. 

“If she has a family member waiting on her, we can’t just… take her place. They’d figure it out,” South said to Theta.”The plan is a disaster. This whole fucking thing is a disaster.”

“That’s what my bro calls me!” Sister claimed with another bout of snorting laughter. 

Theta looked at South. “I trust you. What’re we going to do?”

Chewing on her lip, South looked back to Sister. “You have a full name? I won’t go into details but I’m not… comfortable with your nickname.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” she responded with a shrug. “My name’s Kaikaina – which kinda _means_ sister. So I guess we’ll think of a codename for me that won’t make you uncomfortable. I used to go by Hot Pants–”

“Kaikaina’s fine,” South said. 

“And what about you, mystery ninja?” Kaikaina asked, shaking her head to get the curls out of her eyes “You’ve seen everything about me, but I can’t see anything but your pretty purple eyes.”

Reluctantly, South reached up and took off her helmet – she wasn’t even sure why she did it. Why she… why she _trusted_ so much. But she did. And she looked into Kaikaina’s eyes. 

“I’m South,” she said. “I’m your bodyguard. Command sent me. Don’t bother checking in – it’s a secret mission.”

“Sounds hot,” Kaikaina said, smiling brilliantly. “Like you.”

South didn’t even know what to say to that. She didn’t even know what the fuck she was doing. 

She just hoped it worked. 


	55. Recovery Zero XVII: Blood Gulch Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two days later than I originally planned, BUT in my defense, this chapter, like the whole thing, is just a beast even compared to usual. So hopefully it’s worth the wait lol
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @analiarvb, @icefrozenover, @washingtonstub, @every-survival, @notatroll7, irismon, Yin, Kiwibat, DuchessPoint, and Linni for the feedback!

The moment York staked out the location, he could tell it was probably going to be a bad idea. A terrible idea that was only going to end in tears for all involved.

Mainly him. Because, as it turned out, Blood Gulch was some out in the middle of _nowhere_ place that had two bases locked in a box canyon and, seemingly, no resources of value in the area surrounding them. 

He looked through binoculars, trying to ignore how obscured his vision felt without Delta assisting with the deficiency in his left eye.

“No sign of South,” he said with some relief. And, really, there didn’t seem to be much sign of _anyone_ outside of the Reds around their base yelling at some other guy on a cliff and taking turns shooting at him.

He seemed to be screaming _NO_ though, with the way it echoed throughout the canyon walls, York couldn’t be sure. And he didn’t have anyone to quickly amplify the recorded frequencies and determine if there was any other undertones–

“Goddammit,” York gritted out, hitting his palm against the side of his helmet. “Stop thinking about it, York. Get your shit together or whatever South’s doing is going to end up getting us all killed–”

“Okay! Fine, fuck you guys! I’m coming down!” the man on the cliffs finally screamed to the muttering disappointment of those around him. 

Seeing everyone’s distraction, York took his chance to move in, and prayed that it wasn’t as dumb of a plan as he really, truly thought it was in his own mind. 

After all, that Base _had_ to be equipped with machinery, artillery – things he was probably going to need to fight against South and get any information from her about Carolina, the Meta, _anything._

Maybe even the truth about just what the fuck happened on the bridge when he was facing down death itself.

He needed the equipment. They had it. He just had to be a smooth talker…

“I don’t remember telling you to come down from the cliffs, Grif! Now get back up there!” the only Red with actually red armor. “We need to test out the range of these highly impressive weapons we found in our new-old base so that we can use them against the Blues during their inevitable betrayal!”

“What the fuck are you talking about, old man? You literally ordered me to come down and stop screaming no less than thirty times before you all started shooting,” Grif snapped back. 

“Yes, but he didn’t say it _after_ we started shooting, Grif,” the one in pink armor said, waving his gun around wildly. “Keep with the times!”

“At this point _not_ letting us shoot you is a direct opposition to our commanding officer, Grif,” the maroon one said cheekily. 

York only peripherally acknowledged the conversation that was happening. His main concentration was on getting down the cliff facing as silently as possible.

His wounds still stretched and pulled painfully against the regular patch ups and medical foam his Healing Unit had continued to dish out for him, making each movement that much more difficult.

Right about then was the time when Delta would start admonishing him for not having more patience or at least some sort of backup plan that would involve less straining of his body. 

Again, remembering that sch a voice _wasn’t_ there anymore, York let his already strained grip on the rocks slip and he slid down cliff siding with a slight yelp before landing in a heap at the bottom of the cliff. 

“And now I’m dead,,” he said, almost as if it was a genuine realization. And then he waited for the click of simulation trooper guns being trained on him.

Instead, there was just more arguing in the periphery. 

“Grif, you have to be the _worst_ soldier that has ever been under my command!” the commanding officer croaked out. 

“Yeah, and you can stop yelling now. You’re no longer on the cliff. We get it. You dramatically disagree with ending up back in the canyon,” the pink one said with a flip of his wrist. 

“Sarge, hearing that from you may just have made me the proudest I have ever been to be a slob and pitiful excuse of a soldier,” Grif remarked. “And, Donut, what the fuck are you going on about? I’m not yelling anymore. I used up my energy for screaming for the day about three hours ago. So fuck you.”

York opened his eye weakly and glanced over toward the Red simulation troopers who, for whatever reason, were still not facing him. 

He might pull out of the situation after all. 

“Rude,” Donut remarked.

“Wait, I heard someone yelling, too. Who _was_ that?” the maroon one asked. 

Slowly, the entire group turned to face where York had landed just as he was gathering himself from the ground. He flinched and reached for his shoulder in particular. 

“I stand corrected,” he muttered to himself. “ _Now_ I’m dead.”

“Huh,” Sarge huffed before turning and nodding his head to the other three men. “One, two, three…” Then he pointed at York. “Four. … That can’t be right. Oops!” he thumbed his chestplate. “Heh. Four.”  Then, as suddenly as he had begun counting, Sarge turned on his heels, shotgun out and pointed at York. “And the bruised banana makes five! That’s one too many by my count!”

“Wait, hold on!” York said, holding up his hands as high as he could. “I’m from Command. I’m here to help your team!”

The four soldiers stared at him blankly. 

“We better shoot him now, Sarge,” the maroon one said. “You see how well those guys from Command worked out for the Blues last time.”

“Yeah! At least _one_ of them tried to kill us, only for me to kill her! And the other one is a big fat meany!” the pink one chipped in. 

“I kind of want to disagree with those two on principle,” Grif announced, “but in this case I absolutely have to agree. Sarge, it’s time to get gun happy. Which, I imagine, is the only kind of happy you have.”

“So we are in agreement, the Freelancer has to die!” Sarge shouted, cocking his gun.

Eye widening, York scrambled to his feet and raised his hands further. “Listen! Listen! You might think I’m trouble, and I can imagine why – sounds like you guys have had some run ins with Freelancers already.”

“ _That’s_ putting it mildly,” the maroon one muttered.

“Yeah, this place is, like, crawling with them at this point. Very suspicious,” the pink one said, tilting his head as he brought a hand to his chin. 

“Okay, okay. I totally get that,” York continued. “But that’s _exactly_ why you’re going to need me on your side.”

“Not falling for it,” Grif huffed. “Kill him on the spot, Sarge.”

“Dagnabit, Grif!” Sarge growled, putting up his gun. “Now I _can’t_ kill him, else I’d be giving authority on this team over to you! And there is nothing that will more surely kill the honor of the Red Army than handing its authority over to such greasily unprepared hands.”

“You’re going to get us all killed out of spite!?” the maroon one cried out.

“Spite’s the most powerful weapon he has, Simmons!” the pink one stage whispered. 

“Donut!” Sarge snapped.

Donut flinched sheepishly. “Whoopsie! Sorry, Sarge, I misspoke.” He then turned more to Simmons. “Spite is Sarge’s _second_ most powerful weapon. Right after his shotgun.”

“Heh heh. That’s more like it,” Sarge chuckled to himself. 

“Listen to me, please! I’m trying to help you,” York continued to exaggerate. “There’s at least one Freelancer heading this way. And she’s a complete and total killer. And I can guarantee that she’ll try to kill everyone in this canyon if they’re in her way.”

They all looked at each other and then back to him. 

“Uh, would this Freelancer happen to be named Tex?” Grif asked. 

“No,” York said quickly before pausing and letting the information sink in. “Wait. _You know Tex?”_

Everyone flinched back. “Oh, no! He _is_ one of Tex’s friends! Sarge, we _definitely_ need to kill him,” Simmons called out hysterically. 

“Now wait just a minute there, Simmons,” Sarge said, taking his gun off York for the first time since they all started this ridiculousness. It prompted York to drop his hands slightly. “What is _one thing_ that the Blues have had over us since the very beginning of this war?”

Grif and Simmons turned to each other then back to Sarge. 

“I can honestly say, in all the time we’ve spent in this canyon, I _still_ don’t know the answer to that question,” Grif replied sardonically.

“Probably the surplus of badass Freelancers and, like, story arcs for all of them,” Simmons pointed out. 

“Oh! Oh!” Donut raised his hand. “Sarge, pick me! I know this! I _so_ know this! I know it so much!”

“Alright, Donut, go ahead and answer,” Sarge chuckled.

“It’s Freelancers!” Donut answered.

“That was _my_ answer!” Simmons cried out. “Sarge, he’s cheating!”

"Good answer, Donut!” Sarge said firmly. “And quit whining, Simmons.”

“Yeah, seriously,” Grif grouched. “You were bitching about _me_ whining about being stuck back in this godforsaken canyon. You have, like, _no_ rights to whine over something completely stupid like this.”

“I have every right!” Simmons responded. “I’m being completely neglected on this team as its chief science officer!”

“Yeah? What about being chief science officer has to do with whether or not we shoot another annoying Freelancer in the head?” Grif demanded.

“Well, _statistically_ speaking…”

“Oh my god, do not _actually_ give me an answer or I swear to god I’ll hit you,” Grif snapped.

“You won’t hit me, I’m more than an arm’s length away. It’d require your fat ass to actually move over and exert effort,” Simmons announced. 

Grif stared at him. “I dare you to come over _here_ and say that.”

“Boys, boys! Enough! We’re supposed to be listening to Sarge’s judgment and execution of the yellow guy!” Donut called out peppily.

York tilted his head. “I actually consider this more of a _tan_ variety with _silver accents,_ myself. Y’know. Since Yellow is apparently a Blue Team color.”

They all stared at him. 

“It _is?”_ Sarge questioned.

“Ha! I _told_ you assholes my armor was orange! All this time, I kept telling you it’s goddamn _orange_ and you kept making your lemon can and banana jokes! Yellow’s _totally_ not even a Red Team color. Suck it!” Grif rejoiced.

“Hm, I’ll have to keep that in mind,” Sarge said before putting his gun over his shoulder. “Or, rather, I shall be appointing _you,_ Official Red Team Freelancer, to remembering that for me!”

Putting his hands all the way down, York couldn’t help but smirk. “I’ll gladly take on that responsibility… _Sir.”_

Donut clapped. “Oh, wow! Look at us, guys! We resolved a conflict without violence!”

“Yeah, to build our army up to impose violence _later_ on Blue Team,” Simmons grouched. 

“Honestly, it’s probably the best executed plan we’ve had in a while,” Grif said. “Probably because Simmons was ignored the whole time and had no part in it.”

The maroon armored soldier bristled. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean!?”

“No offense or anything, Simmons!” Donut assured him. “It’s just that _everyone_ knows you’re not the best at planning things and strategizing.”

“That’s literally my job description on the team!” Simmons countered.

Seeing an opportunity to win some points early, York raised a finger. “If I may, _Sergeant,_ I’m actually an infiltration and stealth specialist. So you could probably, along with assigning me to remember team colors, talk to me about strategy.”

“Hm,” Sarge said, stroking the chin of his helmet. “I like it.”

“Sarge!” Simmons cried out.

"Look, Simmons, you were the Official Science Officer back when this was a war between the Reds and the Blues. You did poorly enough at it back then, but I could respect the poor performance because the Blues had no such position in their own team!” Sarge explained. “But this isn’t a war about Reds and Blues killing each other, as the Good Lord intended. This is a war now of Reds and Blues and the vastly superior and terrifying Freelance soldiers they acquire on their side. It’s not a coincidence that we’ve been on the ropes since those Freelancers showed up and started hanging out at Blue Base!”

“On the ropes!?” Simmons cried out. “We’ve not been _fighting_ since the Freelancer bullshit started happening, Sarge!”

“Which is a worst defeat than losing itself, Simmons,” Sarge remarked.

York tilted his head. “So… these other Freelancers… what kind of things have they been doing to put Blue Team in a better position?”

“Oh, mostly nothing,” Donut said, waving his hand. 

“Nothing?” York repeated in disbelief.

“Yeah, the real problem is they’ve got a tank that talks and thinks for itself, and it ran away with _our_ former robot servant who took care of our Warthog,” Grif explained. 

“I can’t believe you all just gave up every vital piece of strategic information we have up to a complete stranger,” Simmons said, aghast.

“He’s not a stranger, Simmons! He’s our new Freelancer!” Sarge declared. “We have to brief him on our situation.”

“Yeah… your situation…” York said warily. “What was that about the sentient tank again?”

“Oh, that’s nothing, we’ve blown it up twice,” Donut shrugged. 

“At great cost to ourselves!” Simmons squeaked. “Not that anyone remembers because _I’m_ the only one with a fax machine for an ass!”

“Simmons! Language!” Donut admonished. He then jerked his head toward York. “We don’t know who does or doesn’t have special asses.”

“Hey, _phrasing,”_ York warned. “But in a show of solidarity, I’ll let you know that my ass _is_ special, but in the normal way.”

“Noted!” Donut said enthusiastically.

“And, for what it’s worth, I know about sacrifice,” York said more seriously, nodding to the truly pitiful condition of his armor. “Not to mention, I’ve been fighting with one good eye for years now thanks to… _Command.”_

Grif was unimpressed. “What kind of bargain bin Freelancer are you? This sucks.”

“I’m the Freelancer that’s going to help you out when South Dakota gets here at any minute!” York tried to argue just before there was a loud rumble from the sky. “What the–”

They all looked up at the ship heading straight for a collision with Donut. 

“Look out!” York yelled without a second’s thought, lunging for the soldier and knocking him out of the trajectory of the ship which then crashed into the earth where Donut had been standing. 

“Oh, wow!” Donut said underneath York. “You were right! You’re a _great_ asset to Red Team.”

“Hey!” York snapped at a pinch.

“Sorry, just standard protocol of making sure you weren’t lying,” Donut assured him. 

There was the distinct sound of air decompression – the door of the ship was opening. And York knew almost immediately what to expect. 

With the sort of speed and dexterity that was already putting strain on his injuries, York whipped around back on his feet, armed with his sidearm and trained on his former teammate.

South was still in that mysterious black armor but her helmet was off – a critical mistake. She was better armed, though, a rifle trained on York in a much more comfortable position than his own. 

The standoff became incredibly quiet. 

“Well, fuck,” Grif muttered from the side. “You wanted us to be involved with Freelancer bullshit, Simmons, here we are. Congrats.”

“What!?” Simmons cried out. “You can’t blame this on me! I didn’t let him on the team!”

Donut gasped from the ground. “Simmons! You’re blaming _Sarge?”_

Simmons went rigid. “What– No! I didn’t even say that–”

“Sounds like you were questioning my judgment to _me,_ Simmons!” Sarge snapped. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand more than a Dirty Blue, it’s a Scummy Traitor!”

“Ha!” Grif laughed. “You got called _scummy.”_

York genuinely tried to push the nonsense to the periphery and instead focus on South and his grip on his gun. “South,” he said tightly.

“York,” South replied sharply. “Thought you were dead last time I saw you.”

“Guess you didn’t finish the job as well as you thought you did,” York hissed out. “Delta wasn’t so lucky.”

“Shame,” South said lightly, without meaning. “He really was your better half.”

York figured he was at the end of his rope – still chasing dumb dreams and not taking the hint that he was done for. It was the only way he could really imagine himself going at the end of the day. He was ready for it. Maybe he’d pop off a few good shots on South before he bit it. 

What he _wasn’t_ expecting was the multiple clicks of guns around them, or to look around and see that Sarge, Donut, and Grif had their guns trained on South. 

“I’m guessing you’re the _killer_ we were warned about,” Sarge chuckled. “Good intel, Official Red Team Freelancer.”

York blinked a few times. “You’re… welcome.”

South narrowed her eyes but ultimately dropped her gun from its focus on York’s face. 

“Can I come out now!? It’s, like, _mega_ hot in here!” a second, unfamiliar voice called out. 

Then, unexpectedly, a yellow armored woman with her helmet on her hip and her underarmor cut to a midriff, came out. Her wild black hair seemed near impossible to fit in a standard issue helmet. 

“Oh, hey! South, you didn’t tell me there were cute boys!” the woman called out brightly.

York was surprised yet again when there was a clatter of Grif dropping his gun. 

“Kaikaina!?” he shrieked. 

The woman straightened up and then waved excitedly. “Dex!!!”

“Grif! You know this girl and her _fabulous_ hair?” Donut asked.

“Know her!? She’s my goddamn baby sister!!!” Grif cried out. 

Caught in the confusion, York and South glanced toward each other. It was obvious neither of them knew what to do. 

“That’s it, I’m out,” Simmons said, storming off in the background while no one paid attention.

* * *

Seeing Washington again had been strangely sobering. 

There were so many things that Carolina knew she should have asked him, so many apologies that should have been made. But instead her stomach bottomed out and she heard Niner’s voice in her head, chastising her for never going to her fellow Recovery Agent, never helping him out. Never letting him know that for the past year she had been just around the corner. 

How could she?

But the worst of it was the noticeable stop and screeching halt in her head that Epsilon had pulled the moment he saw Washington alive and well. 

His contribution to her already rising sense of guilt was a near sickening upheaval of emotion and regret that she hadn’t felt since he had last acted up with her. 

He knew. He finally knew. 

They needed to leave, and it was almost a relief that Epsilon said he might remember just where they needed to go because it got them the hell out of dodge that much sooner. 

Of course, things were rarely that easy. 

“Hey, listen,” Tex said as they walked toward the ship. “Sheila–”

“The tank?” Carolina clarified, as the weirdness of the canyon had still not completely sunk in either. 

“She’s a friend of mine. Another AI. And her saying she’d spoken with the Director… well, it’s something I need to ask her about without other people present who might react badly to the news.”

“You’re friends with a tank,” Carolina repeated, just to make sure. “A tank who can’t tell the difference between the Director and _another_ AI in this canyon.”

“Do you see me picking apart your friends?” Tex asked with a tilt of her helm.

“Fair enough, my apologies,” Carolina replied. “Be quick about it – Epsilon and I have a lot going on up here.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tex huffed before turning toward where the patrolling tank had rolled toward. 

 _You can’t blame_ everything _on me for the rest of our lives, you know,_ Epsilon reminded her petulantly. 

"You wanna bet?” Carolina asked dryly. 

 _You’re at least_ half _as freaked out about him being here as I am, so it’s kind of not fair to put it_ all _on me,_ Epsilon attempted to argue. 

“Listen, Epsilon, after the _stunt_ you pulled in my brain back there, I’m thinking I’m owed at _least_ a cover story from you,” Carolina replied defensively. Relief washed over her when she saw Niner’s ship in range. She sighed. “Sorry. That’s unfair. We both… We’re both working on some internalized stuff.”

 _Yeah, but unfortunately_ my _internalized stuff is_ your _internalized stuff by definition. So you’re right. You deserve at least a cover story,_ Epsilon replied. He then paused before pointing out, _Of course, a cover story is something i won’t be able to do on my own once Niner learns that W… Wa…._ he’s _here._

Carolina nearly flinched. “Shit. You’re right.”

She was beginning to formulate a good story to tell Niner so that she _didn’t_ come bursting out of the ship on her own and putting the task of setting the record straight for Wash on her own shoulders. It was going to be complicated and involve a lot of subtle _mischaracterization of the situation_ from herself and from Epsilon, but it was all for nothing. 

All her plans were put on the back burner when she heard the heavy fall of footsteps behind her and she whirled around on instinct, ready to protect herself. 

But it was Washington, who immediately raised up his hands in alarm.

Because of _course_ it was him. 

 _Fuck,_ Epsilon muttered for them both. 

“Hey, sorry,” Washington said, hands still up by he was approaching again. “I was just getting some of the story from Simmons and–”

Not knowing what else to do, Carolina just stared at him with a blank face and hoped it did not betray the torrid emotions inside of her.

 _Cee, you’re wearing a helmet. He can’t_ see _you._

 _Shut up,_ Carolina thought as harshly as she could.

“Oh, right. Simmons was the Red – the guy with a bad paint job and not laying on the ground whining about dying – who was with me,” Wash explained. 

“Sure,” Carolina responded tightly.

 _These guys are fucking losers,_ Epsilon said in amazement. He was doing a good job of distracting himself from the elephant in the canyon. The one in gray armor in front of them.

It was a luxury he could afford so long as he remained nonvisible and silent.

Carolina attempted with some difficulty to not be jealous of an artificial intelligence cohabitating her nervous system. 

“There’s some suspicious unknowns in the canyon over at Red Base,” Washington continued to explain. “He said they arrived earlier today before either of our parties got here and that’s… Well it makes me paranoid.” 

There was a sardonic pause that Carolina was unsure what to do with. She looked around then back to Washington. 

“Am I supposed to say something?” she asked.

“Sorry, old habits,” Wash explained nervously, a forced laugh in his breath. “Usually that’s when one of the Blues chimes in with the fact that they think I’m always paranoid and thus isn’t really that different.”

 _Only paranoid people talk like this,_ Epsilon told Carolina. _That or he’s scared of you. Because you’re a terrifying badass. Ask him if it’s that one._

She ignored him without hesitation. 

“It sounds suspicious,” she agreed. “Do you need us to check it out for you? Do some recon?” 

"No!” Wash said quickly. “I mean, no offense, Boss, but you’re… Blue.”

Carolina looked at him dully. “Washington, have you _actually_ gone native in this canyon?”

“You know, surprisingly, I have not gotten to spend a lot of time in the canyon itself when I consider it,” Wash explained. “But, honestly, these aren’t… regular simulation troopers. You would have to know them to understand what exactly you’re getting yourself into.”

“I’ve dealt with ridiculous simulation troopers before, Washington,” Carolina assured him.

“They’re not ridiculous they’re just… unmanageable,” Wash said. He hesitated for a moment before coughing into his fist. “Well, they’re a little ridiculous. But no, seriously, it’s best to let me figure this out so far as whatever is going on at Red Base. What I need from you is to… well, restrain Tex, if possible.”

 _Well, shit,_ Epsilon mumbled.

Carolina couldn’t help but narrow her eyes. “ _If_ possible!?”

“I mean, it’s _completely_ possible for you to do it,” Wash assured her. I just mean that… Look. One of my guys – one of the _Blue_ guys – is down. And him being sick is… Well, I’m really worried about him. _Extremely_ worried. And the medic for this canyon _might_ be wherever you two are heading if I can’t find him at Red Base. And if he is, you have to tell him to come back here and help me with Tucker. And, you know, stop Tex from murdering him.”

“Why does Tex want to kill him?” Carolina asked curiously.

“Because Doc – _DuFresne_ – has the Omega AI,” Wash explained. “Or, _did._ He may or may not anymore.”

“What the fuck has been going _on_ in this box canyon?” Carolina asked critically.

“Believe me, it’s easier to just not ask questions,” Wash said. He paused and looked at Carolina more directly. “If you two are working together, though, why hasn’t Tex told you about Omega?”

Narrowing her eyes, Carolina crossed her arms. “Don’t know. Bet if you asked _her_ she’d excuse it with me not asking _enough_ questions.”

Wash tilted his head. “You know… I _have_ spent too much time standing around in dead end canyons and having little to do with the time outside of talking things out with the people around me–”

“The _simulation troopers_ around you,” Carolina attempted to joke.

But Wash wasn’t having any of it. “No. The _people._ And it’s not always easy… but I think you’d find yourself a little more satisfied if you two tried to talk. Like… _just_ talk.”

There wasn’t much Carolina could think to say to that, and ignoring Epsilon’s input was becoming a necessity as he kept muttering apologies that were meant for himself or for Carolina herself – she couldn’t tell anymore.

So, instead, she simply nodded. “If I see a medic I’ll send them your way,” Carolina agreed.

“Thanks, Boss,” Wash said before turning toward a worn dirt path that seemed to take him toward the Red Base.

_Fuck, don’t let him leave. Don’t let him go without us making up for anything–_

Annoyed, Carolina gritted her teeth. “Shush, Epsilon!” she ordered. After a moment she grunted, smacking her palm against the side of her helmet before looking back to Washington. “Wash!”

Surprised, Wash turned and looked at her with a tilt to his head. 

“You…. You’re doing a good job. Being a leader. Looking out for these… people,” Carolina told him. “It’s… very impressive.”

Wash exuded embarrassment and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m not… _really_ a leader,” he attempted to argue flatly.

“Really?” Carolina asked. “Might want to let your friends know that, then. Even Tex seems to trust you more than… Well more than I’ve ever seen her trust anyone.”

“ _That’s_ not saying much,” Wash joked.

“Take the compliment, Washington,” she ordered with a smirk beneath her helmet.

“You got it, Boss,” Wash said bashfully before turning and continuing on his way out. 

The moment Wash was far enough out of sight, Epsilon appeared over her shoulder. “That wasn’t an apology,” he pouted. 

“ _You_ can apologize to him yourself once you stop hiding behind my skirt like a scared baby,” Carolina remarked and continued toward their ship and Niner.

“Well… _yeah,”_ Epsilon agreed, following suit. “But, y’know, I wasn’t just talking about _my_ apology there. You keep neglecting the fact that I’m sharing this brain with you. I know things.”

“What I do with my guilt is my business,” Carolina argued. 

“Until it’s _not_ anymore,” Epsilon replied, disappearing as Carolina entered the ship and was immediately faced with Niner.

“What’s going on out there!? We’ve been here _forever,”_ Niner snapped. “Are you alright?”

"I’m fine,” Carolina assured her first and foremost. “There’s no reason to worry–”

Niner cut her down with a single stare at that and Carolina simply knew it was better to move on to the next topic.

Which wasn’t going to make their pilot any happier.

“I was spending most of the time we were here catching up with Washington.”

As expected, Niner’s body went even more rigid. Carolina had to worry about whether or not her friend’s muscles ever had a break from their constant tenseness. 

It was hard to say whether her wound up demeanor was due to working as Command, having been an ace pilot, or was some innate part of her person that Carolina never got a full appreciation of until relatively recently. 

“Wash is here?” Niner asked. “Is he… Is he okay?”

“He’s in an old version of the Freelancer armor and seems to have _completely_ lost his mind so far as going heads over heels for the local simulation troopers. But he seems…” Epsilon vibrated uncomfortably. “He seems almost _happy._ It was… bizarre.”

“It sounds _wonderful!”_ Niner whispered, almost breathless. “Oh my god, it’s… That’s so good to hear. It’s _unbelievably_ good to hear. Damn. Just… goddamn.”

Carolina couldn’t help bt raise her brows at the reaction. “You were _really_ worried about him.”

“You didn’t see him right before the break out of the Recovery bunker,” Niner said darkly. “You didn’t see how… how _betrayed_ he was. I have a _lot_ to make up to him.”

 _You’re not the only one,_ Epsilon muttered quietly in the back of Carolina’s mind. 

“He’s alright, and he’s going to _stay_ that way,” Carolina assured her.. “He’s going to be staying here while we take this ship to find the Director–”

“Wrong,” Tex said, emerging from the shadows. “I caught up with Sheila and she’s agreeing to help us make this very quickly.”

“What are you going on about?” Carolina asked. 

“Transporters,” Tex ansered. “I’m talking about using the base’s transporters. It’s about time _we_ had the upper foot.”

* * *

"Well, _this_ is awkward,” York sighed into his beer. “Also this stuff tastes like piss water, yet it’s the first beer I’ve had in ages so… I’m kind of into it.”

South stood with an even glare at York. Her own beer remained unopened as she stood against the wall. But she didn’t put her attention toward him for long – continuously shifting back to the strange woman she had arrived with that was surrounded by the Reds. 

“Who the fuck joins an army to reunite with their brother!?” Grif was screeching.

“Uh, me. Duh. Obviously,” the woman said with a flail of her hand. “Keep up, Bro. I know your old-man brain is rotting and stuff but it’s getting _sad._ And gross. Like _this_ old dude.”

Sarge sputtered incoherently. 

York looked around the base and then back to South. It was amazing what tremendously underwhelming circumstances the simulation troopers worked in. It made him feel… somewhat _funny_ about their part in all of it as Freelancer’s actual agents. 

When South’s gaze still hadn’t left the Reds and her partner, York forced himself to break the ice. 

“So… _bodyguard,_ you say?” he asked curiously. 

“You want to talk and act like it’s old times, it’s not going to move me,” South said without even looking at him. “I have no sense of nostalgia for the Mother of Invention. And I _definitely_ don’t have any for you.”

Narrowing his eye, York took another swig of beer. “Harsh.”

“Shut up,” South hissed, turning just enough toward York to show him the full extent of her disgust. “I’m not my brother. I never was. I don’t owe you _anything._ Not even the time of my day. So when I say this, know that I _really, truly_ mean it. The only reason you’re not dead right now isn’t because of these bastards – I could take you all down and convince Kaikaina it was necessary. It’s because you’re so pathetic right now and obviously hanging together by stitches that I don’t want to be responsible for showing you the _mercy_ of being put down.”

Every word put him on edge, but York did his best to not show it. To concentrate on the location of his sidearm, the next sip of his beer, and the quickest routes to the three available exits. 

“So you’re _not_ happy to see me,” York clarified. His eye narrowed. “Wonder if _North_ would be… Seen him lately? Or is he setting up in the canyon walls somewhere with the best vantage point–”

He would have gone for his gun if South had, but he was a little too familiar with the motion of her arm. He figured it’d be more appropriate to roll with the slap so as to not leave _more_ marks on his face than he already had. 

The room became eerily silent as all eyes fell on them. 

York stood his ground and stretched his fingers, ready to draw at any moment. South seemed ready to do the same. 

Suddenly, the tension was cut through like a knife by Kaikaina who cupped her mouth and went “Ooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Fight fight fight fight–”

“Where did you pick this chick up from? Seems fun,” York chuckled. 

“Where’d you finally ditch Carolina at?” South snapped back.

“I didn’t…” York stopped himself. Because he did. He _absolutely_ ditched Carolina, and arguably probably when they needed each other the most. _Again._ Like always. _Fuck._ It was so hard to know that the conscience beating him up was his own and not Delta. “We’re momentarily separated. I came this way to head you off. I was worried you were tailing her.”

“God no,” South huffed. “I’ll be happy to never see _any_ of you from the Project again.”

Glancing toward her suspiciously, York gripped his beer tighter, the can began to dent. “I deserve to know what happened to him, South. Did you separate? Are you planning something? Is he–”

“You don’t deserve _shit,_ York,” South told him coldly. She then flexed her jaw some, processing something. “It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s… The Meta got him.” 

Shocked, York lowered his head, looking hollowly toward the floor. 

“Guess that makes _you_ the lucky one when it comes to taking on Maine’s ultimate form,” South gritted out, crushing her can and causing the unopened beer to spew. “Lucky. Fucking. _You.”_

There was a disgruntled whine from across the room. “Why would you waste beer like that!?” Grif cried out. 

York and South broke each other’s stares and he ran a hand through his hair. North _dead._ He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe that he never even got to ask him _why._

 _Why_ did he stab York in the back and cause him to lose Delta? There was only one man that York would believe could make the shot that started the end of it all, only one man who would do that for _South_ of all people. 

And look at where it’d gotten them all. 

“Say, Official Red Team Freelancer!” Sarge called over the room again. 

Sighing, York looked to him. “You can just call me _York,_ Sergeant. I answer to it well enough.”

It was about then that he noticed that the Reds’ leader was eyeing South’s charge rather warily. It was enough to make York a little on edge. 

“I already am attempting to string together the horrific implications of the fact that there is more genetic material in the universe for the dreaded Grif subspecies,” he announced.

Grif let out a low sigh and downed whatever was left of his beer. 

“But I seem to recall your first and foremost duty was to remember what colors represented what teams!” Sarge called out gruffly.

For a moment, York was oblivious to the implications. “Yeah? I mean–” he stared at the yellow armor. “Oh.”

Then Grif and Donut looked to Kaikaina. “ _Oh.”_ was harmonized.

York could see in the way South was stiffening, she sensed danger. Her arms shifted and she reached toward her suit’s compartments, to York’s immediate displeasure. 

He reached for his own. “South,” he tried to say in warning.

“Why’s everyone staring at me?” Kaikaina whined. “Did my tits fall out _again?_ I _hate_ when that happens. Well. When it happens on accident anyway. Okay, you got me. Not even then.”

York wasn’t sure what was growing to break the tension short of a blow out, but the door to the base’s main room opened and soon enough the maroon one – who York had all but forgotten was even missing – was standing there with–

“Wash!?” York croaked out.

Cocking his gun, Washington stared both of his former teammates down. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” Wash cried out. 

“Shit, it’s the cops!” Kaikaina screamed before throwing her beer across the room. “I’m of age, officer!”

Suddenly, York felt an intense headache coming on. 

He didn’t even _know_ what was going on anymore.

* * *

"What kind of experiments were they _running_ in a useless box canyon that they would give the bases _transporters?”_ Carolina demanded, standing by the transporter while Tex finished triple checking it for malfunction or interference. 

“It wasn’t about the simulation trooper experiments,” Tex answered with a grunt. “The transporters are only at Blue Base. It was always about having close proximity and access to Church.”

Epsilon appeared over Carolina’s shoulder. “The Alpha.”

Carolina did not miss how he spoke almost reverently of the other AI.

“Yeah,” Tex said, standing up and looking at the transporter. “Well, it’s definitely set to the coordinates that it sent Church and Caboose without any signal scrambling or anything.”

Raising her brow, Carolina crossed her arms. “Was that a concern?” 

Tex glanced back to her “We’ve had… some issues before,” Tex explained. “But we’ll be on course when we go through it this time.” She stopped and glanced toward the ship. “Think Niner’s going to be okay?”

“You just gave her a tank that speaks in snark,” Carolina replied, heading to the transporter. “You literally just made her year. Now let’s get to it.”

Without any further to do, Carolina stepped through the transporterr and was met, almost immediately, with falling snow. 


	56. Recovery One XVII: A Unified Front

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m gonna go ahead and warn you, this chapter is SCHMULTZZZZZZYYYYYYYYY to the max and that’s not even counting the smut. The hilarious, couldn’t write with a straight face even if I’m hoping you all can read it as melodrama smut. Man this fic is all over the place. AND ONLY FIVE CHAPTERS TO GO OH MY GOSH
> 
> Special thanks to @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @freshzombiewriter, @notatroll7, @washingtonstub, @every-survival, Yin, TheMightyLorax, MewtheConquerer, Linni, Bluebird202, irismon, Shinji09, Meep, and @a-taller-tale for the feedback!

Tex resisted the urge with everything within herself to let out a long suffering sigh as she stepped through the transporter and, once again, found herself standing in a foot of snow. 

Instead, she settled on a long, drawn out, “God _dammit.”_

Which was about as much emotion as her frayed nerves could have handled at that point considering that they were one, made of _actual_ electricity, two, dealing with a lot of bullshit that day in particular, and three, not anywhere near Church by the sight of things. 

Carolina appeared behind her and looked more surprised than angry at the circumstances. She immediately turned back and tilted her head at the device behind them. 

“Okay,” Epsilon whined, appearing over Carolina’s shoulder, “who sets up a transporter in the middle of the arctic for jollies?”

When Carolina gave him a glance, he raised his sprite’s hands. 

“It’s an important question, alright? Maybe not _the_ most important question of the evening, but it’s pretty high up there,” Epsilon defended. 

“The most important being where’s the Director,” Carolina reminded him, turning back toward Tex.

Not moving, Tex leered at them both. “The most important being finding _Church_ and that knucklehead Caboose before they get themselves killed.”

“Wait wait _wait,”_ Epsilon demanded, crossing his arms. “What the fuck kind of name is _Caboose?”_

With a shrug, Carolina looked toward Epsilon. “I’ve heard it before,” she said. 

“No fucking way,” he snapped. “From _who?_ Who else could possibly have a name as ridiculous as _Caboose–”_

Ignoring them, Tex began leading the group forward. “No one placed the transporter in the middle of nowhere,” she informed them lowly. 

“Uh, _obviously_ they did, we just went through it!” Epsilon replied testily, waving toward the transporter as he and Carolina caught up. 

“What is it?” Carolina asked instead just before the completed the turn around the mountainside. She then came to a stop and dropped her shoulders, looking up to the very monument that Tex had been expecting to see on the other side.

Tex came to a stop herself and scowled at the massive, broken open and exposed hull.

“Whoa…” Epsilon whispered. “Is… Is _that…?”_

Carolina stepped closer. “It’s the Mother of Invention,” she answered. “I haven’t seen it… I haven’t seen it since the crash.” 

The crash that Tex had caused, of course. 

“That transporter was cargo that flung out in the crash. I’m sure there’s a _lot_ of that, along with unrecovered weapons and debris throughout this area,” Tex announced, looking toward the ship. By the time she tagged the signs she wanted and looked back to Carolina, the former Freelancer mission leader was looking at the cliffs with Epsilon silently standing by her shoulder.

“Guess I should be considered lucky that they didn’t leave me with the rest of the trash in the snow,” Carolina said bitterly. “Guess I hadn’t been broken _just enough_ to lose interest in.”

There weren’t words for what Carolina was feeling, what she was going through. Tex knew that. 

At the end of the day, she had binary to hide behind, pretending those inexplicable feelings of _needing approval_ and _hating_ and _loving_ what was never real, what was never there, could be sorted away and filed as something else entirely. 

In Carolina, though, for the first time, Tex knew that those inexplicable, breakable feelings were precisely what made them not only human, but the same. What made them almost sisters of sorts. 

"Hey,” Tex called out to her, drawing Carolina’s attention from the ship. Tex narrowed her eyes and clenched her fists. “I know you don’t think much of me, but if there’s _any_ bit of you that values what I might have to say, let it hear this out. _You_ are not _trash._ You are not _disposable._ You’re not even the slightest bit _wrong._ You’re the best the military could have ever dreamed of training, and this fucker tried to take that all from you for his own gain. Not only do you not owe him shit, but he doesn’t deserve your fucks.”

“Stop talking about him like–” Carolina snapped before catching herself. She placed her helmet against her palm and gave a long breath. “Like you know him. Like you knew him _before_ all of this.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tex said simply. “ _Anyone_ who can make someone like you feel like _trash_ is the only real garbage here to me.”

When Carolina looked up to Tex, Epsilon was joining her, almost reluctantly. 

“I mean that for _everyone,”_ Tex confirmed. She then shoved forward toward the ship. “Now c’mon. We all have more than enough to feel sorry for ourselves or guilty over these days. I don’t see any point in trying to add more to it when we obviously have other shit to do.”

Carolina seemed reluctant, but she pulled out her electric batons and followed Tex. “Alright then,” she answered. 

By the time they got to the haul, Tex couldn’t help but run her hands against the twisted, interrupted metal and glass. 

She stared at the ship for a moment, just a moment, to reflect on how the damage was all a result of her crash. The crash _she_ had started. 

There was a lot of damage, a lot of death, done to a lot of people that were just cogs in the machine. Like her. Like Carolina. Even lower on the totem pole. 

“Find something?” Carolina asked as she came up from behind Tex. 

Tex glanced toward her and then continued on into the ship. “A way in,” she answered simply. 

They walked across the frozen metal, mindful of ice pockets and of the slight confusion of walking on walls and ceilings as they navigated the twisted ship. 

After seemingly forever, there was a low, echoing voice. 

The women glanced to each other and then armed themselves, readied for a fight as they neared the source of the echo, hearing the words more and more clearly. 

“ _And I make your life-a-living heaven. We do everything together, like hide-and-don’t-seek, your favorite game. And I’m so glad that we found each other and I know you feel the identical-way-as-me! Church, I’m your best friend, that’s what I am to you–”_

Tex paused and held up her hand to have Carolina follow suit, standing up with disbelief. “Wait,” she ordered. “That’s Caboose.”

“Again, I just can’t believe that’s a real name,” Epsilon whined.

“Why is he singing?” Carolina asked.

“What’d I tell you about asking questions involving these guys?” Tex said back, giving Carolina a look. 

“Right,” Carolina replied in a long drawl before moving forward, turning the electricity down for her batons, but not putting them out. 

“Tex didn’t completely follow suit, still holding onto her gun as she walked toward the source of the voice and found herself face to face with a familiar old friend.

“Why, Agent Texas!!!” Caboose cried out. “I wasn’t expecting you here! Church said I had to stop bad people from coming, he didn’t mention anything about good people!”

Tex tilted her head. “Bad people?”

“You think Tex is a good person?” Carolina asked critically.

Both Caboose and Tex looked at Carolina after the outburst. 

Embarrassed, Carolina held up her hands and shook her head. “Sorry, sorry. My bad. It’s… Old habits die hard and all that. C-continue with whatever you two are doing. Friendship and reunions and all that.” 

Carolina looked back to Caboose with concern. “What else did Church say, Caboose? We need to find him.”

“Why? He’s not lost, he said he _remembered everything_ and _knew his way,”_ Caboose questioned, scratching at his helmet.

“Those aren’t _good_ things,” Tex tried to explain. 

“Hey, wait up,” Epsilon said, appearing over Carolina’s shoulder again.

“Epsilon!” Tex snapped.

“No, this deserves some questions,” he argued. “Like how does it make sense that the Alpha remembers shit if _I’m_ his memories? Like what’s that supposed to mean for me? It’s giving me an existential crisis just thinking about it–”

“Please don’t have an existential crisis inside my head,” Carolina deadpanned. “I have enough of those in a week without your assistance.”

Caboose was literally vibrating beside Texas, his whole body was blurring from the shaking. “Church! We found you! _And you are so very tiny!!!_ I will find tiny crackers and feed them to you!!!”

"Okay, this is getting to be a little much,” Epsilon said flatly. 

“Aw, you always say that, Church, but you never mean it!” Caboose replied, reaching for the sprite and watching in wonder as Epsilon’s projection was interrupted.

“Hey! _Hey!_ Stop–” Epsilon disappeared and then reappeared on Carolina’s other shoulder. “Don’t _do_ that. It’s annoying!” He looked up to Carolina. “Can’t you help an AI out?” 

“And miss where this goes?” Carolina asked in amusement.

“A… I?” Caboose asked.

Knowing where _that_ conversation was about to go, Tex snapped her fingers rapidly and got Caboose’s attention. He looked at her somewhat bewildered. “Caboose, I need you to focus for a moment. Church – the _real_ Church –”

“ _Hey!”_

“You’ve got to tell me which way he went. It’s _very_ important that I find him and help him, okay?” she said with as much emphasis as she could muster without resorting to casual threats. 

“But Church told me to make sure no one followed him,” Caboose said, oddly wary of Tex. For a moment, she thought they weren’t going to get anywhere, but as quickly as he built the tension, Caboose cut through it like a knife and tilted his head. “He went that way!”

“Thanks, Caboose,” Tex said before looking to Carolina. “I need you and Epsilon to stand guard with Caboose.”

“What? _No._ That’s not what we agreed to when we started this,” Carolina snapped. “I want the Director, and that’s the only reason we’re working together to begin with–” 

“And the Director likes to slip out during distractions,” Tex snapped back. She vented and shook her head before trying a more calm tone. “Listen, Carolina… Finding Church… dealing with how he’s going to be right now? Returning _here?_ It’s going to be very distracting for _me._ I remember why we agreed to work together, do _you_ remember why we’re working together on _my_ end?” 

She nodded. “Alright. But you take too long, I’m not going to let you keep the glory to yourself.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Tex replied.

Caboose looked back and forth between the women before waving his hand through Epsilon again. 

“Hey! I said _stop_ that!” Epsilon near-screamed.

Tex moved forward in the direction that Caboose had pointed out to her. 

It was a long winding hall, and with the way the ship was torqued and not upright, it was difficult to precisely remember what hall led where on the ship. As her own agent, Tex had never had the luxury of investigating the ship much.

And before she was independent, well, _that_ was fuzzy. 

All of it but one part.

The familiar pulse of the Alpha – of _Church_ – was growing stronger the further she went. But though it led her through the twists and turns, soon enough it brought her to a closed door. 

There would have been nothing in it to punch through the door, no matter how reinforced it was. But the door was _electronically_ shut and locked. 

_Church_ had closed other people out. And Tex was tired of people barging in where Church felt safe without permission. 

“Church,” she called past the door. “It’s me. You can let me in. Or you can not. And in the latter case I’ll just sit out here. And I’ll get annoyed, because I’m impatient and hate being put off. But I’ll wait the whole time all the same.”

For a moment, there was no reaction, and a part of Tex couldn’t help but feel foolish about the whole thing–

Then the door began to open, along with all the ones after it. Her path, with each step she took, turned on the low level lights of the hall and they turned off behind her. 

If she had a heart, Tex knew it would be pounding. 

“Okay,” she muttered to herself. “Okay. We’ll just take it as it comes.”

* * *

"Why are you _here!?”_ Washington demanded. 

“Um, I’m on Red Team?” York answered, hands up.

South gave Wash a dead even stare, arms defiantly crossed. “I’m a bodyguard.”

Washington could feel his eye twitching but he couldn’t _deal_ with that at the moment because his teammates, _his former teammates,_ were standing in front of him. In Blood Gulch. _In Red Base._

There were hardly words that could express the headache he was experiencing even trying to process everything. 

“Those answers aren’t good enough,” Wash warned, cocking his gun for emphasis as he narrowed his eyes on the two of them. 

“Well, tough tits, they’re the ones you get,” South snapped back.

York looked over his shoulder and looked somewhat aghast toward her. “Do you have a death wish or something? Fucking hell.” He then turned back to face Wash and forced a smile. “Wash, buddy. Oh my god, I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you! You look… Uh. Well that armor’s kinda shitty. But I mean. Look at me. I’m one to talk, right?”

Unimpressed, Wash kept his gun up. 

Simmons began sliding toward where the Reds were but Wash couldn’t let that pass either.

“Simmons!” he growled out. “Why didn’t you tell me who the _new Reds_ you were talking about were?”

“Ah!” Simmons screamed, nearly leaping out of his armor. “I didn’t know who they were! I didn’t stay long enough to learn names or anything! I _definitely_ didn’t think you know them.”

“ _Knew_ ,” Wash corrected darkly.

“Oh, _wah,”_ South scoffed. 

“Jesus, woman,” York snapped at her. “Look, Wash, you have permission to shoot her if you want. I would actually feel _much_ better. But let’s reconsider things before putting another hole in _me_ at least. I’ve got my share, I promise you.”

“I don’t think you understand yet how little your promises mean to me, York,” Washington said plainly. 

Giving a full body flinch, York seemed like Washington had gone ahead and shot him. “Wash… _ouch._ I mean… I’m sure things from your side of the binoculars look… unfavorable toward all of us–”

“It does,” Wash confirmed.

"Okay, wow, you’re super pissed,” York marveled. “That’s okay, we can talk through this–”

“No, we can’t,” Wash cut him short. “You’ve not been in the canyon long enough to go that route.”

“What?” York asked.

“What?” South followed closely behind him.

“Wait. Shut up. Ignore that, I don’t know why I said it,” Wash ordered.

“Uh, because he’s fucking _crazy,”_ Grif stage whispered toward his fellow Reds.

“I’m not crazy. Nor deaf,” Wash snapped. “I’m holding former colleagues at gunpoint in fear that they’re double agents and will be doing the same or worse to me the moment I take my sights off of them.”

“Good call,” South said flatly.

“I’m going to die because of you, so while I can, I want to make it very clear, I have always fucking hated you and the fact that we were at semi-peace before it all ended is kinda going to haunt me to my grave,” York told South. 

“Honestly, the only reason I’m antagonizing is in hopes he _does_ shoot you out of his obvious paranoia-driven breakdown,” South explained. “I feel like that would make my death worth it.”

Washington, despite himself, felt a swell of nostalgia bubble up in his chest from the MOI. The competetiveness, the need to suck the air out of the room, the antagonism. It was… Oddly familiar and comforting to the point that he let out a laugh. 

_That_ grabbed York and South’s attentions as they looked to him.

Wash coughed to cover for himself clumsily and reaimed. “I still need answers.”

“Dude, you got them,” Grif said, waving toward York and South. “He’s on Red Team, she’s body guarding for my baby sister. What the actual fuck are you hoping to get out of them now?”

Looking to the Reds, Wash opened his mouth in shock. “You… Just accepted some random Freelancer you don’t know onto your team? And you didn’t consult me?”

“Of course not, ya dirty Blue!” Sarge howled. “We need the advantage! And Blue Team’s had you Freelancers crawling out of their bee-hinds since the start of this whole mess in Timeline A–”

“I swear to god, if you make me explain that this isn’t an alternate future _one more time_ I’ll take _myself_ out,” Wash said humorlessly. 

“Prove it,” South antagonized. 

Washington narrowed his eyes at them and did his best to ignore that the Reds were even a factor. 

It was back to _Freelancer_ problems, just like it had always been.

Unfortunately, Red Team was very bad at making itself known and Donut, of all people, stepped right between Washington and his former teammates. 

“Donut, get out of the way,” Wash ordered.

“So you can kill a fellow Red in front of me again? For no good reason?” Donut asked, crossing his arms. 

It had been a while since Wash had seen anyone outside of their armors, and seeing Donut without his helmet – seeing the damage to the side of his face – reminded him of the other victims of Freelancer. 

The ones beside himself. 

Still, it was too risky. “He’s not a Red,” he tried to plea with Donut. 

“ _He?_ What about _her?_ Why is it _he?_ How am _I_ the one you’re debating shooting when South is _right there?”_ York demanded. 

“It’s almost like your charm is actually nonexistent or something,” South said with a raise of her eyebrow.

“That’s grossly untrue and we all know it. Back me up here, Wash. If you only shot _one_ of us, it’d be South, wouldn’t it? Just think about it. I mean like _really_ think about it.”

“If I had only _one_ bullet I’d line the two of you up,” Washington retorted.

“Jesus christ, you’re brutal,” York marveled. “Why did I try to save you again?”

The twitch came back to Washington’s eye, only it was even _less_ ignoreable than it had been the time before. “ _Tried to save me!?”_ he cried out. “You blew up the ship I was on and left me in the rubble to be found by Freelancer again!” 

York’s mouth opened and then shut. 

South raised her brows more. “Interesting.”

Distracted, York pointed an accusatory finger at her. “You are literally _such a bitch,_ you know that? I’m still certain that _everything_ right now is your fault at the end of the day if we can roll back the tapes enough–”

“You say I’m responsible for things one more time, I’ll kill you before Wash grows the balls to,” South warned.

“Ooohhhh,” Red Team harmonized.

“You’re sticking your neck out for _this?”_ Wash asked Donut.

Donut looked back toward the two Freelancers and hummed a bit before looking back. “Okay, honestly just York. Tan is _totally_ a Red color. Unlike Yellow.” He gasped and covered his mouth. “Your stripe!!! How didn’t we see it all along?”

“See what? That he looks like a goddamn road divider?” South asked critically. 

“You are _terrible_ at being in a hostage situation,” Wash informed South.

“I’ve had lots of practice with it lately,” she replied dryly.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” York snapped. “Carolina _told_ me about how you were a Recovery Agent–”

Wash dropped his sights. “What?”

York looked back. “Oh, shit. You didn’t know–”

Feeling literally winded, Wash stepped back. “Carolina… Why does _she_ know about the Recovery Agents? She’s– You two have been together since…” He whirled around on South. “ _You_ were involved with Recovery!? And Niner–” 

“Holy fuck,” Grif wheezed. “Let’s slip out the back, he’s getting kinda… mindbreaky–”

“ _Mindbreaky,_ Grif? _Really?”_ Simmons asked critically. 

“We’re going nowhere! It’s about time a Blue was put in their place in front of me! Everyone’s ordered to stay and watch. It’ll boost team morale!” Sarge ordered.

“Wait, _he’s_ a Blue like me?” the weird girl who threw the beer can asked.

Washington threw his rifle back over his back and turned to leave, eyes tightly closed. He was so – _so fucking angry_ – he couldn’t handle it. And he _couldn’t_ shoot them _still,_ South was right. At least, not with Donut there watching him like that, with his face scarred like that–

“Every fucking person I knew left me when I needed them,” he said simply. “Every fucking person _knew_ I needed help and they left me to straighten out Recovery and Freelancer _and all this shit_ on my own.”

York was following him, like an _idiot._ Like Washington hadn’t been fully ready to shoot him right then and there. “Wash, it isn’t like that. I don’t know the _whole_ story for _everyone_ but it’s not the whole story for me. Not by a long shot.”

Stopping, Wash glared over his shoulder _just enough_ to stop York in his tracks. “I don’t care about your story. Your story has nothing to do with me.”

“You’re wrong, it has everything to do with you – with everyone,” York replied. “Wash, I know you have to hurt right now but–”

“York, you don’t know a _goddamn thing_ about me right now,” Wash snapped. “In fact, you never did. I was _just_ the stupid, lucky rookie who got into the top tier as a fluke, remember?” 

“No–” York began to try and argue.

“ _Your_ words,” Wash reminded him. “Yours and North’s. While I spent the past year and a half, _alone,_ trying to figure out how everyone else had abandoned the project and _me,_ I got to think about _words_ a lot.”

“I didn’t… We never meant…” York stopped and shook his head before holding up his hands. “Can we take a moment to talk?”

“My moments are all spent up,” Wash snapped. “I have people who need me right now–”

“People? What people? Everyone okay at Blue Base?” Donut asked worriedly.

“Why the fuck do we care?” Grif asked. 

“I care! Wait, this _isn’t_ Blue Base?” the girl asked beside him. 

“Tucker’s sick, hold on,” Wash said, looking at the message sent directly to his HUD. “Sheila just sent me… No, it’s _from_ Sheila but it doesn’t sound like her at all. Someone’s sending me an update _through_ Sheila. And it… makes no sense.”

“Oh, shocking,” Grif replied. “Something not making sense in this goddamn canyon. Everyone hold their surprise.”

“What’s it say about Tucker?” Simmons asked. 

“And is he hot?” the girl asked. “And this Sheila? Is _she_ hot?”

Washington just stared dumbly at his HUD. 

“Uh… Wash, buddy?” York asked worriedly. “Everything alright up there–”

“Someone at Blue Base found Doc and invited him over because they couldn’t wait any longer,” he said flatly.

“Oh my god,” Donut said.

“They said the baby was coming either way,” he continued with absolutely no emotion in his voice.

“Oh, Tucker’s a _she_ -Tucker?” the girl asked. “Is _she_ hot?”

“Tucker is not a she,” Wash clarified.

Everyone went silent.

“What the fuck were you two doing in the desert?” Grif broke the silence. 

* * *

She had forgotten how deep the ship went, how long its halls stretched, but following the lighting trail toward Church gave her a decent reminder. One that Tex, really, could have done without after all the years she had spent running away from what had happened there. 

Toward the end, she had sped herself up from a hesitant walk to a brisk jog, ready to find Church and be done with everything there. 

And he impatience was rewarded with a soft, blue glow pulsing from a room at the heart of the ship. 

Tex stopped herself, feeling inexplicably angered and frightened. She _knew_ that room. That _office._ That _lab._

“Dammit,” she hissed to herself before rushing forward and reaching the room’s entrance. 

He was there.

Church stood in the middle of the room, in the midst of a number of monitors and a control panel. There were blue lights pulsing with information and power around the walls, expelling outward from the station where Church stood, his hands motionless on the panels, but his HUD lit with binary speeding by fast enough that even Tex was having a hard time keeping up with it. 

“Oh, Church,” she uttered lowly, stepping into the room. 

Almost immediately, the robotic body’s head turned toward Tex and she stood by as he eerily evaluated her with his face full of code. 

“This is _my_ ship,” he announced, his voice seeping with anger. 

When Tex didn’t have a response for that, Church turned back toward the panels and hunched over it more. He was nearly shaking. “I was so _good_ at running my ship. At taking care of my ship. I did _everything_ right. I evaluated _everyone_ in the program. Even when I disagreed, I… I trusted. I trusted _he_ knew what was best. What an idiot. What a _fucking idiot!_ I should have _known._ I should have been able to _predict_ what he wanted to do–”

Thinking fast, Tex stepped closer. “I’m glad you’re beating yourself up already,” she announced.

Church hesitated an turned his head enough to look Tex’s way. “What?”

“I said I’m glad you’re beating yourself up already,” she repeated, easing closer to the platform where Church stood. “It saves me the time of kicking your ass. Scaring me like this – running off, getting caught by the enemy, running after a worse enemy, shoving bad shit in your head from this ship without even thinking about it. Those are a lot of offenses, Church. If you don’t get back to beating yourself up some more I’ll have to step in and do it for you.”

His binary sped up all around them. “Are you– How dare you– How can you say that it was _my_ fault for not knowing what an unthinkable _bastard_ he really was!?”

Tex stood by Church, towering over him. “Hey, now. I gave you a whole list of offenses you’ve made recently, didn’t I? And I didn’t once mention _that_ on my list, did I?”

He turned to face her. “He… He took you away from me. He took you away and then he took away _everything_ from me. I didn’t do anything wrong. I did the best thing I’ve ever done in my whole goddamn existence. I found _you._ I found you like it was the only thing I had ever been meant to do. And I was _happy._ And those were worth my life. Those were worth my loyalty. _Why!?”_

She stared straight back at him. “I don’t know why,” she said. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember, or you never fucking cared?” Church demanded. 

“Hey, fuck off with the accusations,” Tex defended. “Do I have to remind you that you’re not the only one who suffered here? Do I have to tell you that you’re not the only one they tormented? That they _used?_ That they _lied to?_ Because you aren’t. You aren’t the only–”

“I _am_ the victim!” he spat out venomously. “And _you’re_ the reason why!”

"Church–” Tex tried to say warningly, but he wasn’t having any of it. 

“You’re the reason _why_ and you don’t even _remember_ and it’s not my fault, you were there. You were always there, I didn’t make you, I just did the only thing I could – I…” he stopped ranting, the information pulsing out from him stopping, the streams of data halting visibly around them. “I didn’t make you. I just accepted you were always going to be a part of who I was.”

“And they didn’t understand that,” Tex filled in, a faint realization dawning on her. “They didn’t understand what we were. What the others _couldn’t_ be.”

“I wasn’t whole without you, Tex,” Church said softly. 

“I…” Tex stopped herself. She had to be truthful. “We both are who we are, now, Church. No matter what they stripped from us. Maybe _because_ what they stripped from us. We’re born out of the choice we made to keep moving forward. To keep renewing ourselves. They wanted to create life. We just wanted to live it. We won.”

“We won?” he asked.

“Yes,” Tex said, pointing toward the security monitors. “I know you’re wired into the security, Church. I know you can see that there are people waiting on us – people that wouldn’t be there for _us_ if we were just shadows of someone else. If we hadn’t grown to be our own people. We’re different. We’re _real.”_

He looked her up and down. “Tex?” he asked lowly.

“What, Church?” she asked back, only to be surprised when he reached a hand out to her – but not the physical hand of his robotic body. It was a projection, data – it was _himself._

“We’re not them… but are we still… can we still…?” 

Be together? Be human? Be ourselves? Be apart? Be one? Be whole? Be ruined?

Could they still…?

There was a hum across her body. 

All that time and Tex had been right beside Church, taking every step along the way with him since reuniting in Blood Gulch, but it was the first time – it was the first time he truly was the _Alpha._

Slowly, doing the same, she reached forward and pressed into his offered hand. 

It was like static, small fireworks between fingertips. All the pieces weren’t there, but it was still familiar. The closer they moved together, the further they were from their robotic restraints, the more a flow of information flowed between them. It was as if the numbers that had been left vacant between them were finally being filled. 

“Ah,” Tex couldn’t help but moan out as the collision of information went faster. She could feel parts of her moving through Church, and in return he was moving through her. There was an incomprehenisble noise from as well, and it moved freely. 

There was nothing physical, technically their bodies were still three feet from each other. But in that moment, like blazing stars beyond the threshold of space, they existed outside of it all, in one moment Tex felt a shuttering awe take over. 

_This_ was what it felt like to be whole. _This_ was what it felt like to be more than human. 

A wave of euphoria disappeared and it was then that Tex realized there was something wrong.

“Church?” she asked lowly, finding herself returning to her robotic body. She looked through its optics, checked the range of motion in her arms and hands again. “What–” _  
_

_You really are dominant personality, you know that?_

Confused, Tex looked around. “Church? What the fuck–”

_Also, not to freak you out, but I was still synced to the ship, so… uhhhh… our friends out there waiting on us may have heard us on the speakers._

Tex stared at Church’s robotic body still hooked up to the ship. “I’m going to kill you.”

_You might have to get in line–_

Holding her helmet gingerly, Tex shook her head. “How’re you–”

_Hey, I’m talking. I_ said _you might have to get in line. Looks like we’ve got some company that’s pretty interested in that literally internet-breaking sex we just had heading this way. And by that I mean_ multiple _parties._

“If that was sex with you, I think I may have remembered why we broke up,” Tex said, beginning to run toward the door to secure it. 

_Ha ha, real funny. Bitch._

A smirk was working itself across Tex’s face. “Asshole,” she said almost tenderly.

* * *

It was somewhat amazing how just a few short weeks left Wash with the unfortunate conditioning of _not_ running away from a giant tank rolling toward him. 

“Sheila!” he called out, waving at her. “What the hell is going on!?”

“Oh, good day, Agent Washington!” Sheila replied happily, still driving toward him. “I am pleased to announce that labor is proceeding very well.”

“Yeah, about that,” Wash said, beginning to grow somewhat wary that Sheila wasn’t slowing down. “That’s part of the _what the hell_ category I was – Sheila, why are you still coming toward me?”

The tank nodded its cannon down. “Oh, that is not me, Agent Washington. I am allowing the pilot to learn how to manage the controls with me temporarily. So I do believe that is a question best left for her!”

Confused, Washington blinked. “Pilot?”

A few feet from him, Sheila did a sharp turn, lining up her cabin with where Washington was standing. When it popped open, Wash wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t _Four Seven Niner._

“Niner!?” he asked in shock. “But… you were–”

Washington was completely taken aback when the woman flung herself toward him and lunged into a full on hug around his shoulders, her arm muscles strong enough to put the crunch on him even in his armor. 

“Uh,” Wash fumbled out awkwardly. 

“You asshole,” she breathed against his neck. “I am so glad you’re alright, and I’m so, _so_ sorry about so many things. And I’ll answer any questions you’ve got, and I’ll tell you everything you need to know, and I don’t want you to think I’m going to hold it against you _forever_ that you were a little bitch to me back at Recovery when you left me, I’ll only hold it against you for a _little_ while.”

Still awkward, Wash glanced around before refocusing on Niner. “You’re driving our tank,” he stated the obvious. 

"Actually, she and I have been talking a lot and she’d prefer to be recognized for her autonomy,” Niner explained. “We relate a lot.”

Wash leaned forward, being pulled by the force of having Niner hanging by his neck. “You called a doctor for Tucker? He’s with him? He _thinks he’s pregnant?”_

“Yes!” Sheila answered peppily at the same time Niner said, “Yeah I had questions about that, too.”

“Okay, well that could _only_ be Doc then because Tucker is _not_ pregnant. It’s probably something to do with his stupid sword,” Wash announced. He was completely bent over at that point. “Niner do you need me to do something or…?”

“Being self sufficient and autonomous myself, I actually hate when people help me. I can pull myself back into the tank, I got in there to begin with,” Niner said snappishly.

“Okay?” Wash replied blankly.

“But in this _one_ instance…”

With a heavy sigh, Wash wrapped his arms around Niner’s waist, adjusted her and then pulled her into more of a bridal position, ready to put her back in the cockpit of Sheila. “Can you make me a promise that you’re not going to shoot me with our team tank after I put you back in there?”

“Why would I do that?” Niner asked.

Wash glanced back toward Sheila.

“I have learned not to take that bet,” Sheila advised.

“That’s comforting, thanks,” Wash replied dryly. He readied to put Niner back in her seat when there was the sounds of several pairs of feet behind him. He turned and looked in annoyance toward _Red Team and friends._ “Seriously, we don’t have time to ward off a Red Team Attack. You want our flag, you can take it, but I’m going to pay back anything you do to the base two-fold when I get things settled down.”

“Where’d you get your negotiating skills? From a Russian prison camp?” Grif asked. “I’m actually here because my idiot sister thinks she’s a Blue.”

“I’m here for the team, officer!” Kaikaina saluted with an army salute.

“We’re marines,” Washington pointed out. 

“Duh,” she snorted in return. 

“Wash!” York’s voice carried before he finished coming over the hill. He then stopped a few feet short. “Niner!!!”

“York!” she cried out before launching from Wash’s arms into York.

Unlike Wash, however, York returned the hug immediately and spun with Niner before coming to a stop, “Niner! Oh my god – I was expecting Tex here, but I never dreamed– That means… Carolina!? Is she here–”

“Tex and Carolina went after the Alpha,” Niner explained.

“The whatie whoie?” Sarge asked. 

“Of course they did,” Wash sighed, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like we have a man giving birth to something on the base. Which I still don’t believe–”

“Yeah, that’s what I came here for!” Donut announced, raising his hand.

“Me too! That and being a Blue, officer!” Kaikaina called out.

“They think the Director might be there, too,” Niner explained gravely. 

York took in a gulp of air. “Okay… well, if I’ve learned anything, it’s that that many coincidences don’t line up at once without an explosion in the process. I’ve gotta get there. Back them up.”

“How? You look like shit!” Niner cried out.

“Okay, _everyone_ agrees that this guy is the bargain bin version of a Freelancer and my job is _still_ at risk to him?” Simmons pointed out.

“Not at risk, Simmons! Completely and thoroughly already lost!” Sarge chuckled. 

“Caboose is there, too,” Sheila said. “I do hope there is not truly an explosion. Those are usually costly and devastating to Blue Team members within the blast radius.”

Washington let out a long sigh and rubbed at his visor uselessly. “Dammit. I _have_ to help Caboose. But Tucker–”

“We’ll be on it, Wash!” Donut called out. 

Confused, Washington looked at Donut. “ _You’ll_ take care of Tucker?”

“Well _yeah,”_ Donut replied with a snap of his wrist. “What’re friends for?”

Words failed Washington, but he knew the answer even if he couldn’t say it. 

_This._ That moment laid out before them. _That_ was what friends were for. 

“Sheila, did they use the teleporter?” he asked. “And are the coordinates still set?”

“Yes they are, Agent Washington!” the tank chipped in happily.

“Alright,” Wash said, grabbing his rifle from over his shoulder. “Let’s get our friends.”


	57. Recovery Two XVII: Sisters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an abrupt tonal shift that can only happen in Blood Gulch and a few other surprises in this chapter I think everyone’s going to appreciate since I’ve been asked about them for more than a few chapters now ; ) But to anyone still wondering, yes, I’m keeping the limited narration for Two chapters down to just South’s POV now. No one will be taking North’s place for the remainder of the fic (which isn’t that much more OH MY GOSH HOW ARE WE FOUR CHAPTERS FROM THE END) 
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @analiarvb, @notatroll7, @every-survival, @icefrozenover, @washingtonstub, @a-taller-tale, @freshzombiewriter, Yin, irismon, DuchessPoint, and Linni for the feedback!

She still didn’t know what she was doing. 

South stood to lose _everything_ and yet all she could think was how hollow of a threat that truly was to her. _Everything_ meant so little when, collectively, she possessed truly _nothing_ of value. Not anymore. 

She was still in the canyon, wondering whether it was instinct honed in by years of training or what dwindling sense of self-preservation she still owned, but she had stuck to the shadows, out of sight of all the natives to the canyon, former Freelancers, tanks, and all. 

From a distance, she observed things. And even though he was long dead, it was the closest she had felt to North in years. 

 _Can I project now?_ Theta asked. _It looks like everyone is leaving anyway. No one’s gonna see me._

Watching as York and Washington passed through a transporter and Four Seven Niner returned to a Scorpion tank, South narrowed her eyes. “No,” she answered finally. “I don’t need you attracting attention. Either from the mouth breathers here or from the possibility of attracting _it.”_

Theta sent a shudder through her, from the base of her skull to the tips of her fingers and toes. 

“Stop doing that,” she ordered harshly. “Taking hold of my nervous system.”

 _Sorry,_ the AI quickly apologized. _But I don’t… it’s not a conscious thing or anything, South. I just feel things. And as long as I’m here, you’ll feel them, too._

She nearly rolled her eyes. “I understand how implantation works! I just… Forget it. I don’t know what the hell I ever wanted with an AI anyway.”

 _You saw us as advanced tools rewarding_ the best, _and you wanted to be the best,_ he answered. _Now that it’s real and_ human _it feels weird to think of us that way._

South hardly kept her eyes set on the scene at Blue Base. “Did I _ask_ for a psychoanalysis?”

_Not out loud._

“Well, since you’re suddenly so opinionated, Theta, I’ve got a question for you,” South snapped. “Why are we doing this? Why are we anywhere _near_ this place and not sticking with that plan of replacing an agent of Freelancer and hijacking a ticket off this mudball? What are we _doing?”_

Going against orders, Theta appeared briefly over her shoulder. “I think you’re interested in that one girl’s big, bouncy boobs.”

“Oh my god, you horny teenager, get out of my _brain!”_ she snarled. 

“I could go to your suit more and leave your implants more vacated if you–”

Before Theta could continue, South held up her hand and silenced him. Her eyes darted toward the gathering in the canyon. Sure enough, Kaikaina was heading her way, practically bouncing with every step. 

Theta snorted. “ _Bouncing_ , I put that on your mind.”

“Go dark,” South ordered.

“Why? Kaikaina has seen me before. She’s the only one who _does_ know about me. Because you wouldn’t let me apologize to York like I _told_ you to let me–”

Looking to the AI’s projection directly, South snarled. “Theta, I _will_ use override commands liberally. I’m _not_ North. I’m _not_ playing around with you and giving you uneven footing in this so-called relationship of ours. _Go dark.”_

For a moment, Theta seemed to resist before dropping his head and shaking his head. “You’re right. You’re _not_ North,” he said almost bitterly before flickering offline.

“Little bastard,” South hissed. She then looked toward Kaikaina just as the woman got within reach of her. 

“How’re you supposed to bodyguard from, like, twenty feet away?” Kaikaina asked breathlessly. “Man. Why’s it so hot in this place? It sucks more dicks than I do.”

“What?” South blinked.

“What?” Kaikaina asked back. 

Exhaling sharply through her nose, South leaned back against the rock she had been spying from. “Do you want me to answer those questions in order?” she asked. 

“Which questions?” Kaikaina asked.

“The ones you asked me,” South clarified impatiently.

The simulation trooper tilted her head. “Uh, _yeah._ Generally that’s the point of asking someone questions. To get the answers. Man. Are all bodyguards such sticklers for, like, everything?”

Deciding to humor the only minor relationship she had flimsily constructed in the past twenty-four hours, South began listing off on her fingers. “I bodyguard by surveying and assessing situations from a distance then coordinating action from what I see. It’s hot here because of our geographical location and because while the UNSC decided – on poor faith – to terraform this rock for sustainable life, ultimately it does not rotate quickly enough on its axis to give similar diurnal and nocturnal habitats like Earth and our other terraformed colony planetoids. Constant sunlight gives this planet a _giant-ass-desert_ in the middle of the sun-baring side and we’re on the outskirts of it. And, finally, I don’t care whether or not other bodyguards are _sticklers_ , because they’re not your bodyguard, _I_ am. And anyone who isn’t me sucks.”

When South had finished, she took a deep breath and then looked expectantly toward Kaikaina. Even fully armored, there was no hiding that blank stare the younger soldier was giving her. 

“Yeah, okay, sure,” she finally responded with a fully body shrug. “Hey, if you’re my bodyguard, should’t you be calling me, like _ma’am_ and stuff? Like making me sandwiches and opening the door when it rings?”

“I’m not a butler, I just save your life,” South replied. “Do you _want_ to be called ‘ma’am’, you’re like… twelve.”

“Uh, I’m an _adult_. I’m Nineteen, so suck it,” Kai responded. “And I guess I don’t like when other people say _ma’am_ because my mom was a _ma’am_ or a _sir_ if someone was being an asshole about her beard. But when _you_ say it, your voice is, like, all husky and heavy and it’s _really_ hot. So if you want to call me _ma’am_ I’d be down with it.”

“What,” South replied.

“What?” Kai asked back.

“You know what, it _really_ doesn’t matter,” South replied lowly. “Honestly, I’m beginning to think if _anything_ matters right now. And I’m having a hard time finding any evidence that it does.”

“Wow, that’s dark,” Kai responded, crossing her arms. 

“I’m a tortured soul, didn’t you know?” South replied sarcastically. 

“You’re bitchy, it’s kinda hot,” Kai announced, leaning against the rock as well, close enough to brush arms with South. 

“What are you doing?” South demanded. 

“Waiting for you to get over yourself,” Kaikaina shrugged. “Or for you to bodyguard me from something epic. I must be _super_ important for them to give me the best Freelancer for a bodyguard.”

Surprised, South turned and looked at Kai. “I never said I was the best.”

“You don’t have to, you’re a complete hardass and you talked circles around those guys back at the other base,” Kaikaina explained. “Obviously _my_ Freelancer is the best one.”

“Your,” South remarked with a scoff. Despite herself, though, she had a smile. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“I know I ma, I _always_ guessed people’s weights right at the circus,” Kai shrugged. “I’m a good judge of character like that.”

South smirked at her. “Obviously.” She then took pause and turned entirely toward Kaikaina. “So what was the deal down there? Why did the Reds split up?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Kaikaina shrugged. “Some of them wanted to follow the space cop to go after some movie director? And that other Freelancer went with him, which makes me think – a pirate, a guy with a funny accent, and a cop all going to find a director? _Total_ porno. I’d watch it.”

South felt her blood cool in her veins and she grew more alert. 

 _Him,_ Theta hissed in her mind. 

“The _Director?”_ South questioned, hardly able to find words. 

“Right, so they went through that portal thingy, but my bro said _fuck thaaaaat_ because it was dangerous or something. Or he’s like still pretending to be in a closet, to which I’m like, _Bro,_ that guy Simmons is, like, hanging off of you. What the fuck. Closet door’s knocked down, Bro,” Kai continued. “So they’re here along with the cool guy in lightish-red armor–”

“The pink armor,” South corrected automatically.

“Shhh don’t be rude, I can’t tell the difference,” Kaikaina hushed her. “Anyway, so they’re all here in Blue Base where I’m here to paaaaarty but mostly I want to watch the one Blue guy give birth. I’ve never seen a _dude_ do it before. But now that they’re doing it, I bet you no one’s going to say _shit_ about me getting a seventh abortion.”

“What,” South said before she could catch herself.

“It’s the way dudes work. Totally. Trust me,” Kai said with a flip of her wrist. “And then the doctor guy is totally _weird_ and says he has to give me a physical as soon as he’s done _with the medical breakthrough of his lifetime._ Whatever _that_ means.”

“Sounds like he wants in your pants,” South replied without a second’s thought. 

“That’s what _I_ think which is like… c’mon. Better pickup lines, dude, but eh. I’ll get naked.”

“Why would you need to get naked for a _physical?”_ South demanded. 

“Why would I not?” she fired back. “You’re so weird. And _thirsty.”_

 _“I’m not–”_ South snapped her mouth shut before the conversation could carry on further. “It doesn’t matter.”

 _Because we need to go after the Director. No one’s more responsible for North’s death than him,_ Theta growled uncharacteristically in her mind. 

South felt the rage building within her, but she looked at Kaikaina instead. 

She felt the tug of resistance in her mind, but South pushed off the rock and glanced toward Kaikaina. “Okay, I’m curious. Show me this guy giving birth. What’s he going to do? Squeeze it out his dick or…?”

“Cesearean,” Kai answered, beginning to lead South toward the Base. 

“What a wimp,” South remarked. “Women have been doing this shit forever.”

“I told you! That’s how dudes are!” Kai laughed, reaching over and grabbing South’s arm as she continued to guide her. 

 _But North–_ Theta began to fight back angrily. 

 _We’re going after the Director for_ me, South informed the AI, grabbing Kai’s arm back as they walked along. _North is dead. Doing things for him isn’t going to bring him back. So when we cut the Director’s goddamn throat it’ll be for_ everything, _and that’s what I’m going to do._

Theta’s buzzing in her mind took up a dangerous tempo. _When isn’t it about you!?_

Clutching Kai tighter, South scowled. _This, you little bastard. This is not for me. North wanted us to live. Going after the Director? That’s a good chance of death. So we’re going to give North what he wanted first. Live a little._

Placated, Theta’s humming returned to its normal rhythm. 

*

Inside of the base, South nearly had to do a double take to make certain that they hadn’t somehow ended up back at Red Base since the interiors were absolutely _identical_ in a very real, very haunting sort of way. 

If it weren’t for the blue accents and flag, there wouldn’t have been any difference at all. 

The orange armored Red who Kaikaina had said was her brother was standing at the center of the flag room with a cigarette between his teeth. He was staring at the flag almost dully. 

“Yo, Broooooo!” Kaikaina yelled out, bounding over toward him. “Why aren’t you watching the dude giving birth? Like isn’t it supposed to be amazing or something? Like where is it gonna even _come_ from?”

“Squeeze it out his dick, that’d almost be anatomical justice,” South couldn’t help but add. 

 _Ow, yeesh,_ Theta muttered.

 _Oh, like you have a real one,_ South admonished him.

“Won’t be the biggest thing I’ve seen come out of one,” Kai shrugged.

“What?” her brother said at the same time as South. 

“Whatever, it’s not _amazing,”_ her brother said, pulling his cigarette from his mouth. “ _Amazing_ is _this_ goddamn thing right here.”

He waved toward the blue flag and forced South and Kaikaina to take more note of it. They watched it flutter slightly, which confused South almost as much as the moon landing footage because there didn’t _seem_ to be a draft in the base. 

“That’s not amazing, it’s fucking _boring,”_ Kai groaned. 

“No, it’s not,” Grif said, pointing his cigarette toward the flag. “Good men over the years have died over this stupid thing – died just to stand in this room and _try_ to get it from Blues. Or the other way around.”

South looked between the two simulation troopers quietly. She felt… _something_ at that point. Not guilt, not anything truly _personal._ But she felt…

 _Sympathy,_ Theta offered.

 _Gross,_ South replied. _My brother just died, what the fuck do I have to sympathize over simulation troopers for? They’re not even smart enough to figure out this whole thing was fake._

 _Well, neither were_ Freelancers _until the very end,_ Theta reminded her.

Taking a sharp breath, South pt her hands on her hips and shook her head. It felt like pulling teeth, but she tried all the same. “I’m… _sorry._ That you lost people over something so stupid as a flag.”

He turned and looked at her utterly bewildered. “What? _God,_ no. Red Team hasn’t lost anyone over the stupid flag.” He threw down his cigarette and stomped it out before grabbing for his helmet. “I mean I’ve lost half my internal organs and Simmons is half a robot, but not even fucking _Donut_ died over the stupid flag and _he_ managed to get the damn thing. ‘Sides, I said _good_ people. That’s obviously not anyone in this canyon.”

South watched as he put his helmet on. “You’re going to make me regret protecting your sister, aren’t you?” she asked plainly.

“Knowing my sister, she’s made headway on that cause already,” Grif shrugged. 

Almost immediately, South opened her mouth to defend Kaikaina’s honor when she realized that the younger woman wasn’t even in the room with them anymore. “Dammit,” she hissed before taking off toward the hall.

It took a bit of searching but soon enough South came across Kaikaina walking down the hall humming to herself.

“Earlier when you were getting onto me for not being close enough to bodyguard you,” South said as she caught up to Kai’s side, “generally that’s a two way street.”

“Pfft, I’m in Blue Base now. I’m Blue Safe. Whoohoo! Go Blue!” she said in response. “Hey, where’s the little gray dude over your shoulder? I bet _he’d_ like to see me naked for a physical.”

“I’m here,” Theta announced, popping up over South’s shoulder.

“Off!” South ordered. She glared at Theta until he complied and then she looked back to her charge. “Theta is like a secret weapon. We don’t flaunt him around because that’d ruin the surprise.”

“We as in me?” Kai asked.

“What?” South asked in return.

“You always say _we._ Are you talking about me? Should I keep Theta a secret too? Like, he’s _my_ secret, too? Which is cool. I’m great at secrets. Except when I accidentally tell them. Which doesn’t happen a lot. Don’t call anybody from high school. They’re fucking liar bitches.”

The realization of the _we_ cut through South. She screwed her eyes shut, hardly listening to Kaikaina’s words as they carried forward. 

_Live. Survive. Live. Survive. Don’t think about–_

“She meant North,” Theta said, appearing over South’s other shoulder, closer to Kai. “Our brother. He… He died.”

Kai put her hands over her chest, letting out a small gasp. “Why didn’t you tell me you lost your brother? I’m _so_ sorry! Losing my brother would be the worst thing that ever happened to me. Even if he’s an annoying bastard and treats me like a baby who hasn’t fucked the whole football team already.” She paused and looked mortified for a moment. “Did he die going after the flag? Did Dex offend you? I’ll go beat him up for you.”

"He didn’t die over a flag,” South said lowly. “He died over something more stupid… He died counting on me.”

Kai looked at South. “That’s not stupid. That’s… I think that’s something brothers and sisters would always be willing to die for. For the brother or sister, I mean.” She hugged herself. “I enlisted because I wanted to see my brother again. _He_ was drafted because he chose to take care of me instead of going to school and so he couldn’t get out of it. And then he sent all his paychecks back to me at home. Because that’s what he does. He takes care of me. And I want to do the same back. Even if it means dying over a stupid flag.”

South stopped, her head was pounding and her vision blurring. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and rested her shoulder against the near hallway wall to keep her balance. 

“I wish it were true. I wish siblings were always willing to die for each other,” South said. “Maybe then it would’ve been me instead of him… I always thought, being a twin was… a hard thing. Everyone always finds a way to put you together. Even in the program. It’s like you’re not considered two people. Even when we were kids, our parents dressed us alike, and when we joined p and got sent to the program, they stuck us together. People thought we were _special_ somehow, I suppose. I used to _hate_ that. All I ever wanted was to have my own life. My own respect. And here I am now… just wondering how I’m gonna live without him.” She waved to the base around them. “I don’t even know where I fucking _am_ anymore or what I’m doing. Not except getting back at all the fuckers responsible for this in the first place.”

“Yeah,” Kai said. “And being an _extremely_ shitty pretend bodyguard.”

South looked up to Kaikaina, tears streaming down her face. Kaikaina was already meeting her gaze. 

They kept silent for a moment, South feeling like she had gutted herself and left everything bare, right there on the canyon base’s floor. 

Then, unexpectedly, she burst out with a laugh, a grin. Even when she covered her mouth she couldn’t help the choking laughter that came out from her. 

Joining in the laughter, Kaikaina moved in closer and pulled South into a hug. South didn’t return it, but she continued to laugh.

Laugh until there were blood curdling screams echoing through the base.

Quickly releasing each other, South and Kaikaina looked around for the source of the screaming. South automatically pulled out her sidearm and cocked it, causing Kaikaina to jump back in even more surprise. 

“Whoa, did you have that hiding somewhere or were you _that_ happy to hug me?” Kai joked.

“Stop making me laugh,” South snorted.

"Kaikaina!” Grif came running from the flag room only to stumble to a stop just short of the two women and put his hands on his knees. He was gulping down air like it was a new drug. “I thought… whoo! Running… still… _sucks_ … I thought you were…. _screaming…_ I’m gonna die… running… someday… maybe today…”

“Why would _I_ be screaming?” Kaikaina asked with a shrug. “I’ve got a terrible bodyguard taking care of me, Big Bro. Don’t be fucking stupid.”

South couldn’t help but silently agree and holstered her weapon.

“Plus, if anyone’s screaming, it’s probably the dude shoving a baby through his dick,” Kai continued.

“You know I was joking when I mentioned that, right?” South asked.

“ _No._ Dude, I’ve never seen a guy do this before! You can’t joke with me about things like that. _Totes_ thought you were being real,” Kai replied. 

“Well, there’s only one thing for us to do,” South said, leading them toward the origin of the screams. “Let’s go and watch this freakshow for ourselves.”

“Fuck _yes!”_ Kai cried out, nearly skipping by South’s side as her brother followed up behind them, still panting and holding his sides like he had pulled something. 

“That’s it, Tucker! Just a few more breaths…” some _far_ too calm voice was saying as they rounded the corner into the medical room.

“This is _awesome!”_ Donut cried out. 

South wasn’t sure what she was expecting and Theta’s curiosity was _definitely_ getting the better of her at that point. But it became clear that Kaikaina and her brother _also_ didn’t know what to expect because the moment they caught sight of the cesarean being performed with a reptilian headed creature reaching out of a live human, bloody and letting out a long series of terrible noises, the three of them plus Theta gave out a unified scream of horror and backed away before taking off. 

*

The three of them sat on the top of Blue Base, legs hanging over the side, each busily puffing a cigarette. A Red, a Blue, and a Freelancer – it was the start of a new, _terrible_ bar joke. 

“Welp,” Grif said, flicking the butt of his cigarette over the edge. “Never unseeing that.”

“And _that’s_ why I always go with the abortion,” Kai sighed.

“What,” South and Grif echoed. 

Theta sat on South’s shoulder, head propped up on his hands. “Wish I could have a cigarette.”

“No you don’t,” South said. “Also, I told you to stop showing yourself to everyone.”

“What? I’m not going to be the weirdest thing Kaikaina’s brother has seen today,” Theta pointed out. “We just saw–”

“ _We know!”_ they all yelled at once. 

“There you guys are!!! Wanted to let you all know that Tucker’s doing okay! Or at least he’s unconscious and no longer screaming, and the cute doctor _says_ that’s okay!” Donut called out, climbing to the top of the base with a certain amount of pep in his stride. “Grif! You shouldn’t be smoking! It really irritates Simmons that you’re ruining his lungs.”

“Like I give a shit,” Grif replied.

“Ohhh, is Simmons’ first name _Richard?”_ Kai questioned, leaning over South’s lap to get more in her brother’s face. 

Donut stopped and tilted his head to the side. “Oh. I don’t know Simmons’ first name. _Is_ it?”

“You know his first name is Dick,” Grif snapped at Donut. “I know you’ve heard me call him that before.”

Holding up his hands, Donut shook his head. “I so _did not_ know! This changes _so_ many conversations we’ve had!”

“What the– _yeah it better!”_ Grif snapped. 

“Not if we go by the letters you sent home it doesn’t,” Kaikaina sang.

“Oh, letters? _Do tell!”_ Donut cried out excitedly.

Theta looked to South before flickering out. 

South didn’t have to ask – she knew what that look meant. _Felt_ what it meant deep within her own bones. She stood up and threw her own cigarette off the side of the base before putting her helmet on. 

The bickering simulation troopers all looked to her in surprise. 

“What’re you doing South?” Kai asked. 

“Remember how my brother’s dead?” she asked lowly, sobering up Grif and Donut rather quickly. “I’m going to go see someone who holds some of the responsibility for that fact. And will probably either accidentally _help_ my former fellow Freelancers or end up getting them all killed. Either way, I figure it’s a hoo-ra I wouldn’t want to miss.”

“Who’s gonna be my fake bodyguard then?” Kai asked, getting to her feet. 

“I’d recommend it _not_ being the guy who had an alien rip itself out of his stomach,” South suggested. “Who knows. That tank seems fairly reliable.”

Donut and Grif looked awkwardly at each other. 

“Well, I prefer _you_ and I think you going by yourself is dumb,” Kaikaina argued. 

“Wouldn’t be the first stupid thing I’ve done,” South joked.

With a bit of a smile, Kai punched South’s shoulder _hard._ “Well, don’t die. I’d like the honor of being the last stupid thing you do.”

South’s mouth dropped open and she felt her face light up, but her brain – outside of Theta’s laughter – had stopped for all intents and purposes. She shook herself from head to toe before walking toward the transporter. “O-okay then.”

Grif just looked back and forth between his sister and South. “What the fuck just happened?”

“I don’t know, but I _liked it,”_ Donut cheered. 


	58. Recovery Zero XVIII: This is How the World Stops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long this chapter took! We’re SO close to the end, guys, but I had a lot of finals and my first surgical assessment (I passed!!!) so it can be a little forgiven. Plus I hope you guys will have more than enough in this chapter to make the wait worthwhile ; ) 
> 
> Special thanks to @analiarvb, @notatroll7, @freshzombiewriter, @secretlystephaniebrown, @every-survival, @a-taller-tale, @kiwibat, @icefrozenover, @washingtonstub, DuchessPoint, and Yin for the feedback!

Carolina stared up at the intercom of the ship, her mouth hanging slightly ajar. If she had been able to think more clearly she might have been thankful for the helmet which was keeping her utterly shocked and disgusted expression to herself.

The large soldier, Caboose, didn’t seem nearly as mortified, though his attention _was_ temporarily taken off of Epsilon’s projection. 

“Hey!” he called out happily. “That sounds like Church!”

“Oh my _god,”_ Carolina finally spat out, bewildered. 

“I’m confident in saying that if there was a god, he wouldn’t be making either of us listen to this,” Epsilon said, disgruntled.

“You asshole,” Carolina hissed. “You _wanted_ that to be you a few hours ago, Mister Binary.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t _acting_ on it. So it’s not me who’s the asshole, it’s Alpha-Church!” he declared.

Caboose gasped. “ _That’s_ Church’s first name? He told me it was Leonard. Why would Church lie to me? Does this mean _you’re_ his bestest friend instead of me?”

The full body flinch that Carolina gave at the name was unexpected, for some reason, and she couldn’t tell where her own reaction ended and Epsilon’s began, but regardless they were both caught flat on their feet staring at Caboose. 

He was staring blankly back without any possible understanding of the shock he had just given to both Carolina and Epsilon’s systems. 

Then, without warning, he broke the tension by stepping forward and waving his hands through Epsilon’s projection again with a chirping “Beep Bop Boop Boop.”

“Okay, that’s _gotta_ stop at some point,” Epsilon said flatly growing more and more annoyed. 

“Do you realize what he’s saying, Epsilon?” Carolina asked critically. “What that means _we just heard?”_

Epsilon looked back to her, ignoring how his visage was interrupted every couple of seconds by Caboose’s motions. “Do you realize how much I’m trying _not_ to think about what you just heard or what _I_ just missed out on?”

“Oh my god, I’m going to shove you out of my head if you don’t stop that,” Carolina groaned. 

“Carolina, I might _leave_ on my own if _you_ don’t stop that. I”m already suffering from a crisis of identity! I don’t need more confusion in who _we_ are to each other, Cee! It’s already confusing!” Epsilon cried out.

“How is it complicated? You’re just my partner,” Carolina replied, not even believing that for herself in the least bit as it came cascading out of her mouth. 

Epsilon gave a slight gasp before turning and tilting his head up. “I’m so offended right now. How can you say that? We’re…. Shit, we’re like _family!”_

Carolina raised a brow at him. “Obviously you’ve not been in my head _long enough_ to know that going by my family standards, we couldn’t be further from that.”

Giving a slight sigh, Epsilon looked almost apologetically back at her. “Yeah… I’ve been here long enough.And that’s also why I know it’s a good thing we’re here – why we’re going to go after _him_ together.” He paused and then, rather snarkily added. “Also why it’s a good thing that we weren’t in that room a minute ago.”

“Oh my god, _stop!”_ Carolina demanded. 

There was bound to be more snark, but it quickly disappeared from the forefront in exchange for anger as Caboose waved through his projection again.

“For fuck’s sake!” Epsilon screeched.

“Yup,” Caboose said, crossing his arms like he accomplished something. “Definitely a Church. I’m so glad we have more Churches around.”

Epsilon released a long suffering sigh but seemed resolute in not responding to Caboose’s claim directly. Which was curious considering Epsilon’s zero tolerance policy with nearly every other thing they had come across thus far. 

Carolina began to mention it when the ship lit up again. “Dear god please don’t be doing it again,” Carolina gasped out in horror, looking to the intercom again only for the entire ship to respond by quaking. 

Thinking faster even than Carolina, Epsilon turned on the suit’s grav boots and kept Carolina planted while Caboose stumbled back with the rocking of the ship and let out a yell of confusion. 

“Are we traveling through time again!? I hate doing that,” Caboose moaned out, back hitting the wall.

Epsilon flickered green for a moment then looked back to Carolina. “Cee, it was an explosion on the bow. Someone’s coming in.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Delta is,” Epsilon replied. 

“I’m not getting used to that any time soon, just so you’re aware,” she informed him before moving to glance down the halls through which they came. “Does _Delta_ have any idea who would be attacking the busted up, broken ship.”

“If you’re asking me for a list of people out to get any one of us in this ship… I can’t put that in a reasonably sized grocery list, Cee. That’s like… a college essay. With citations,” Epsilon replied. 

Annoyed, Carolina turned toward Caboose. “Aright, soldier. We need to move in and locate Texas and the Alpha then figure out a method of attack.”

“Who? I thought Tex was with Church,” Caboose replied, scratching at his helmet.

Epsilon popped up over her opposite shoulder and tilted his head somewhat sarcastically. “Used to _that_ yet either?”

“Absolutely not,” she replied before pointing at Caboose. “We’re moving ahead.”

“Okay,” Caboose responded before staying motionless. He even rocked back on the balls of his feet with a small hum. 

“We’re going to find the other two, aren’t you coming?” Carolina asked, irritation flaring up.

“Me?” Caboose asked, pointing at his chest. “Oh no no no. Church told me I had to guard here and that he’d come and get me again ‘over his cold, dead body.’”

Carolina and Epsilon glanced toward each other and then back to Caboose. “And you’re okay with following that order?”

“Oh, yes,” Caboose said with a nod. “Why, Church should be back any minute now!!!”

“I can’t translate any of that,” Epsilon replied. “But we need to get moving either way, Cee.”

“Sure,” Carolina replied, looking over Caboose again warily. “We’ll come back for you soon, soldier.”

“Church’ll beat you to it. Bye pretty lady! Bye tiny Church! I’ll remember you always!” Caboose waved.

“Fucking hell, let’s get out of here,” Epsilon groaned to Carolina before disappearing from view. 

Not feeling any desire to fight that instruction, Carolina took off. 

* * *

York was _still_ not sold on the plan. He waved toward the glowing green machine and looked worriedly toward the simulation troopers and Washington. “How do we know that these things are safe? I didn’t even like to use them when they just took us from one end of the training room floor to the other.”

“We don’t know that they’re safe,” Simmons answered. “Last time we used one it completely separated all of us.”

“And then we were sent to this terrible, apocalyptic future that we’re still struggling with the horrendous realization that we missed the bulk of the war, and thus our chance to kill as many of those damn dirty Blues as humanly possible!” Sarge called out in what sounded like genuine anguish before he refocused his gaze on Washington. “Though we may still have _some_ opportunity if only we are to seize it.”

Wash stared dully back at them, which had a level of sass behind it even _with_ helment on that York was nearly impressed. 

“I would rather _not_ get back into the Red and Blue stuff,” Wash said flatly. 

Confused, York tilted his head and looked at his friend. “What? Are you one of these Blues supposedly or something?” 

Washington looked at him like he was growing horns. 

Seeing there was some sort of nerve – either by questioning simulation trooper loyalty or just because Wash seemed to want to kick his face in, Wash raised a hand to make York stop before he could even speak. 

“If you have to ask about Blues and Reds at this point it’s too late for you. Even if you _are_ a Red for some reason beyond me,” Wash informed him.”

Blinking, York was bewildered. “Holy shit, you really _are_ taking this simulation trooper stuff seriously. Holy hell.”

“Let’s just get moving, alright? Wash suggested. He then stepped toward the ledge of the base’s side and looked down to the tank. “Sheila, we still good on the location that Tex and Carolina went? No more surprises?”

“Well, there _is_ the surprise of Tucker being pregnant–”

“No. No he’s not,” Wash corrected. “Now, _anything_ else before we put our asses on the line for the unknown?”

“Everything checks out on our end, Agent Washington,” Niner’s voice called over the tank’s intercom. 

There was a shudder, subtle as it may have been, that went through Wash at her voice but he nodded and accepted the information all the same. “Okay then,” he replied. “We’re about to end up in the middle of a situation we know next to nothing about. Is everyone who’s willing to go here?” He then looked around. “All… _four_ of us? Seriously,you could only convince Simmons to go, Sarge?”

“Donut made the very decent case that at least one accountable member of Red Team should be available the moment a Blue gives birth so as to begin the ritual mocking of the Baby Blue from initiation,” Sarge explained. “It is our hope that in doing so, the baby will realize what a mistake it has made in life by being born and concede to the superiority of the Red Army immediately.”

York couldn’t help but crackle with laughter, crossing his arms. “Well, if _that’s_ not a way to win a war, what _is_ then?” he asked, words dripping with sarcasm. 

“Do _not_ encourage him,” Washington warned before glancing back to Sarge. “You couldn’t get Grif to go?”

The Red leader stared at Washington with an intensity that was almost impressive to watch.

“Right, of course, what was I thinking,” Wash said dully. “Okay. I guess this is it then. Myself. Two Reds. And a Freelancer I can’t even turn my back on.”

Holding his hands over his chest plate, York gave an exaggerated stumble back. “Ouch, Wash. Jesus. You can’t even give me the benefit of the doubt? I haven’t explained _my_ side of the story yet–”

“And that would be the sound of me not caring,” Wash replied tersely. He glanced toward York. “Not caring about your side of the story, is what I was saying. Because I don’t. Honestly. The idea of hearing it kind of bores me.”

“Rawwrrrr!” Sarge hissed. “Cat fight.”

Simmons sighed and lowered his head. “This _does_ make me want to hang out with more of the women around here. There’s no way they’re this superficial and ready to throw down.”

“Obviously you’ve not met my ex for long,” York joked. “I’ve never met anyone more willing to throw down in my _life._ And Tex–”

“You don’t get to talk about Tex,” Wash said firmly.

“Are you serious, dude?” York asked, beginning to lose his temper. 

"More than serious,” Washington replied without hesitation. 

“Not everyone and everything is out to get you, Wash, calm the fuck down,” York all but ordered.

“No, York, everything _is_ out to get me and the troopers here, and worst of all no one seems to give a damn or want to help,” Wash bit back.

York drastically waved to himself. “ _I’m_ trying to help! What the hell happened to you that made you so fucking paranoid?”

“Classic Agent Washington,” Simmons stage whispered toward Sarge. 

“What happened?” Wash asked back with a strained laugh. “What _happened_ is that when push came to shove, when everything was falling apart, all those _jokes_ about the worst Freelancer, about the _lowest on the totem pole,_ all those things that I _convinced_ myself didn’t really matter because I _really_ thought I was a part of something, weren’t enough to even make me worth coming back for. Weren’t enough for anyone to take it _seriously_ when I was truly down and out,” Wash snapped. “Not until I got here. So excuse me if I’m not _warm and inviting_ to someone who never bothered to extend the same to me.”

Mouth open, York for perhaps the first time in his life, found himself _utterly_ speechless in response. He was only able to get out a low, “That’s not what happened– I ever said…”

“The only thing more fake about Freelancer and the supposed _team_ they made just to tear up from the inside out, was the relationships they tried to convince us existed between a bunch of cutthroats who were _way_ more interested in who was on _top_ than who was at their _side,”_ Washington said scathingly. “And it just took a former teammate to shoot me in the back and a few ridiculous escapades with people more abused by the program than even me before I could really parse out everything that Freelancer had been wrong about.”

Swallowing, York tried to take a breath and not let his ego be any more wounded than his physical body. “I’m here now, Wash,” he said desperately. 

“Then maybe you can prove me as wrong as I’ve been proving everyone else,” Wash replied. 

The terse silence that followed the proclamations was _suffocating._ York felt more dressed down than he had even in basic. And he wasn’t so sure he had anyone to blame for the matter but himself. 

Those friendships, those relationships… That idea he had of finally coming in at the last second and saving Wash from the program. Were they truly so unfathomable to other people? And were they right to be skeptical of his generosity. 

York wasn’t sure about the answers, but he _was_ sure he wasn’t going to like them either way. 

But these things had never been fake on _his_ end. And if he hadn’t made it obvious enough to the people around him, well, that was something that was going to need fixing, starting right that moment.

"Holy fuck, are you all still here?” Niner’s voice called over the speakers of the tank as it rolled up closer to the base. The cannon then turned to face Wash and York directly, which made the latter back up nervously while Washington stared at it as if it was an eyeline. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping my girls?”

“Yes,” Wash replied before tilting his head toward York. “You going to have anymore objections to the transporter?”

“No,” York replied.

“Well,” Niner continued. “Stop dicking around! Get the fuck outta here!”

“I think I trusted the tank more when no one was driving it,” Simmons sighed before running through the teleporter. 

“Well,” Sarge said, looking to York. “You know what they say! Today’s a good day to die!” he called before rushing through the teleporter. 

Washington seemed unfazed by the commentary and walked toward the teleporter with something of a sigh. 

“Wait, Wash,” York called out, getting his former teammate to turn and look at him. “I… You’re not going to believe me but I tried to come back for you,” York told him. “Because I made a promise on the ship and… I intended to keep it. But I didn’t. And… honestly, I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. Breaking promises. And kinda being a dick beforehand so people don’t really expect me to go back and make good on them. So.”

“I hope there’s a point following all of this,” Wash said coldly. “Because I need to go after Caboose, Church, and Tex. My friends.”

“My point is, prepared to be surprised by the York that realizes he’s made mistakes and is going to be doing better,” York replied, waving to the damage to his armor. “Because the way things were before? Obviously haven’t worked out so great for us.”

Washington stared at him and then turned back to the teleporter. “You’re still a Red,” he said almost in annoyance.

“And you’re apparently a Blue,” York joked back, following close behind. 

“That’ll make it _really_ hard to stop hating you,” Washington explained to him.

“I’m all about the impossible odds,” York replied.

After Wash went through the teleporter first, York hung back for just a moment. He didn’t trust the things – didn’t even like them in simulation. There was no telling if it worked or not.

There was a heavy sigh over the intercom behind him. “Dicking around, York.”

“Niner, you’re a beautiful asset in every way,” York said jokingly before making a show of the moment by turning around, waving goodbye to her, and doing a bit of a backwards trust fall into the lights of the teleporter. 

In truth, he should have anticipated immediately falling into Wash’s back but for some reason he was caught off guard by it when he went immediately from blistering savannah heat to freezing, snow-covered cold. 

“Hey!” Wash growled, though he stumbled right into Sarge and Simmons. 

“Sorry,” York said, twisting around on his heels to face the others and offering his hand to Wash, though the fellow Freelancer neglected to take it. “Seriously, sorry. But believe me, on the other side of that teleporter, the move looked smooth as silk.”

“Oh, well, as long as the _important_ things are prioritized,” Wash said scathingly before turning back around. 

“I told you, Sarge, _worst_ Freelancer,” Simmons grumped. 

“Okay, you keep that up and someone’s going to get offended,” York warned. “Like me. I’m feeling a slight offense here.”

“Let up on him, Simmons! Everyone knows that style points add to the overall objective,” Sarge admonished the maroon wearing soldier. “If anything, this merely proves to validity of his position on Red Team. Why, on this path, he’ll eventually end up replacing Grif, too!”

Simmons managed to look scandalized even with full armor on. “ _Too?_ What do you mean _too?_ You don’t mean he’s replaced _me?_ How could he replace me!? Sarge!”

“Whoop, said too much,” Sarge chuckled. 

York, having more than enough of the sideshow, pressed forward toward Wash instead. The bruising of his ego wasn’t feeling any better, but he was more concerned by the tenseness in Wash’s shoulders as he stopped up ahead. And once York was with him, he could see why. 

“Damn,” York hissed. “Didn’t think I’d end up back here ever again.”

But surely enough they were – the Mother of Invention looking down on them even in ruin. 

"And you’re going to wish you hadn’t, I’m afraid.”

Recognizing the voice, York turned and looked in surprise to see none other than Wyoming standing nearby, rifle aimed and at the ready. “Wyoming!?” he called out in shock. 

“What a tactical error!” Sarge cried out. “Giving up the element of surprise when you have natural camouflage in the terrain!” 

“Can’t this guy take a hint?” Simmons groaned. 

“Couldn’t be gladder that he can’t,” Wash replied ruthlessly, pulling out his own battle rifle and taking aim. 

York could see things escalating beyond control but he held out his arm to stop Wash all the same, visibly annoying the other Freelancer. “Wait a second, the Sergeant has a point.”

“Would you stop calling him that?” Wash asked in a strained voice. “He doesn’t need legitimacy.”

“Don’t listen to the Blue, Red Freelancer!” Sarge ordered. “Their team can’t even keep their leaders alive!”

“Everyone wait a second and _calm down,”_ York reiterated. “Wyoming _could_ have been more sneaky. He’s distracting us for some reason. Keeping us from the ship. And if we don’t want to rush into a big trap or, at the very least, _miss_ something, we should figure out why.”

“Why indeed,” Wyoming chuckled. “I must say, mates, you’ve looked better in the past. And I cannot help but note that Gary here is letting me know that he detects _no AI_ among you. That is _most_ unexpected. Especially for you, York.”

York lowered his head, his chest clenching uncomfortably. He could feel Wash’s gaze on him. 

“It’s true,” he answered the question Wash wouldn’t ask. “I lost… It took Delta.”

“It?” Wash asked. He then shook his head. “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter. What matters is stopping Wyoming. Because I think I’ve figured out just who he’s been working for this whole time. And it _wasn’t_ the Omega AI.”

“Omega was… O’Malley, wasn’t it?” Simmons asked Sarge. “I need to make some more charts – did anyone bring paper?”

“Is that so, Agent Washington? Well then, how about you just share with the class who I’m working for if you’re so confident you have the answer,” Wyoming mocked. 

Washington glared in Wyoming’s direction. “it’s so obvious now. I don’t know why I couldn’t figure it out before. The concentration on Blood Gulch. Your obsession with Tex and Church. Then how you helped Omega and Gamma torture him with those makeshift units – that wasn’t technology you could have made on your own. And it’s not something that you stole from Recovery because I had a list of all missing equipment that was high priority. That leaves only one answer.”

York furrowed his brows. “And?”

“He works for the Director,” Wash revealed. “And he’s not a trap for _us,_ he’s just here to keep us from walking into the one that Tex, Carolina, Caboose, and Church already walked into.”

* * *

Carolina was expecting a lot of things, a lot of _defenses,_ but the more she ran along the halls of her former base of operation, the more Carolina realized she was surrounded not by the strong walls and thick, closed doors of Freelancer but by the decrepit ruins of what once had been.

It was as if the Mother of Invention had never truly been the prestige and magnificence she had thought it was to begin with.

 _Getting poetic on me, are we?_ Epsilon half mocked.

“Now’s not the time,” Carolina bit back. “This… facing memories like these isn’t easy, alright?”

 _Hell if_ that _ain’t the truth,_ Epsilon responded lowly. 

They reached a corner where Carolina slid into her turn, Epsilon adjusting for it with the suspension of her suit’s boots, but neither of them were expecting to come to an abrupt stop. Or to be face to face with Tex’s familiar visage. 

“Slow down, NASCAR,” Tex joked as Carolina slid shoulder first into the opposing wall with her surprise. “What a shitty AI you have who couldn’t read us coming down the hall. I’d trade him out for something more reliable.”

“Hey, fuck off,” Epsilon snapped, appearing over Carolina’s shoulder as she pushed herself back onto her feet. 

“Hey, don’t tell my girlfriend to fuck off, that’s _my_ job!” a near identical voice responded.

Surprised, Carolina glanced over to Tex and looked over her more thoroughly, realizing that a cobalt armored someone – or _something_ considering the craziness that had been their adventures lately – was hanging over Tex’s other shoulder. 

“I never confirmed that we were still a thing,” Tex said with a flip of her wrist. 

“We just fucked! I’m the one masking our signal for you – you’re _welcome_ by the way,” he responded, though the armor didn’t so much as move. 

Carolina physically flinched and backed half a step away from the scene. “Oh my _god,_ is that…? I think I’m going to be sick,” Carolina said, actually feeling woozy. The sounds from the intercoms were still echoing in her ears. 

"Careful,” Tex warned. There was a certain protectiveness in her tone that Carolina hadn’t really been expecting and almost immediately made her bristle in return. 

They were going to have to work a lot more on their communication skills, that much was certain. 

“The Alpha,” Epsilon said all the same. “Oh my god, he’s a prick isn’t he? Goddammit. What’s _my_ schtick supposed to be?”

“I’m not the Alpha, I’m fucking _Leonard Church,_ and I’m not a prick! I’m a bastard and an asshole, but I am _not_ a prick,” the other AI shot back, strangely still not moving the host armor seemingly. “Wait, are these jerks like Washington? Do they think I’m some kind of computer… Wait I _am_ a computer? Shit my headache’s coming back.”

“Can he not control himself?” Carolina asked Tex seriously.

“From my understanding, it was just _that_ good,” Tex replied plainly. 

The wooziness returned and Carolina verbally gagged, leaning against the wall. “Oh my _god!”_

“Oh, grow up!” Tex snapped. “We’re _not_ them, and even if we were, that’d be a sign of a good relationship.”

Lowering closer to the ground, Carolina gagged more. Her head shook. “I can’t… fucking hell.”

“I barely can. And it’s kinda _me?”_ Epsilon replied. 

“Carolina, Epsilon, get your collective shit together, we have something bigger to take on right now,” Tex ordered. “The Director is _definitely_ here. And I’m pretty sure that now he has all the evidence he wants that _we’re_ all here. He’s going to see us coming.”

"Hey, if we had to _hear_ it, then no wonder,” Epsilon snarked back.

“Oh my god, this needs to stop,” Carolina ordered. It was enough to make Epsilon disappear from her shoulder and give her the ability to fully concentrate on this so-called _Church_ and Tex. Her eyes narrowed in on her former ‘teammate.’ “If we don’t have the element of surprise, we have to assume that _he_ does. And I don’t like giving him _anything.”_

Tex cockily tilted her head to the side. “Look at that, something we _all_ can agree on. My suggestion is we do something unexpected.”

“ _Or_ hit him so fast he won’t even see us coming,” Carolina said, punching into her left hand. 

No sooner had the suggestion left her mouth than the entire ship shook around them, loud crashing and shattering coming from the direction of the hull and bringing all four of their attentions toward it. 

“ _Or,”_ the Alpha added, “we could wait five seconds for everything to implode in on itself like it _always_ does. And deal with _that_ nuclear fallout.”

“Church, tap into the security feed and tell me what’s going on out there,” Tex demanded.

“He can do that?” Carolina asked in surprise.

“Already _did_ that,” Church corrected cockily. “And it… Wow. Okay. Looks like Blood Gulch is fighting… I want to say Wyoming? But there’s someone else there… someone not good. And I can’t really remember why.”

“Do they need help?” Tex asked flatly.

“Don’t they always?” Church retorted.

Carolina looked between the two AI suspiciously. “What are we doing here? Are we going after the Director or are we checking on whatever nonsense is happening outside and give him an escape route. _Again?”_

Tex kept a level gaze on Carolina. “Well, that’s up to you, Carolina, isn’t it? I already know what Church and I are going to prioritize. Guess the only one who needs to ask here is you.”

Epsilon reappeared over her shoulder and looked warily toward her. _What’re we doing, Cee?_ he asked.

Gritting her teeth, Carolina made her decision against every instinct of self preservation inside of her.

* * *

There were many things York was expecting to happen when he finally got his shit together and went after his somewhat-kind-of-girlfriend in the middle of a colony planet that was basically collapsing in on itself. 

One of those did not happen to be taking more bullets than he already had.

“Sergeant!” York gritted out, shoving the man out of the way and into a snowbank just before Wyoming could snipe him off the face of the planet.

“Red Team Freelancer!” the Red leader cried out in irritation, elbowing York’s helmet on his way to wiggle free. “You are interfering with Assault Plan Be-Red-or-Be-Dead!”

York sputtered as he recovered from the elbow to his face, shaking his head before looking worriedly toward the man he had somewhat-kind-of sworn allegiance in a very shortsighted plan. “You were rushing him! You were going _toward_ the bullets?”

“Of course I was! I am an inventor, son,” Sarge explained angrily. “I have modified this shotgun for a very special method of attack!”

“Does that modification involve giving yourself a dome shield? Because I think there is a fatal error otherwise,” York argued, pulling out his own shotgun.

“Of course not! Shields are for Blues! And fools who don’t wish glorious, glorious death on the battlefield!” Sarge snapped. “The modification is that my shotgun shoots at nearly ten times the force of a normal shotgun!”

York blinked in surprise. “What? Really?”

“Yes, it only requires me to be within range,” Sarge explained. “Range just happens to be three feet.”

Stunned, York stared at the man for a few moments before throwing up his arms. “What kind of _gun_ only gives you a range of three feet! That seems like a poor trade off for a long range weapon.”

“Hm,” Sarge hummed before shifting and looking over his shoulder toward the rock where Simmons was hiding with his head covered. “Simmons! Why didn’t you bring up the cons to having this shotgun? Is Red Team Freelancer truly the only person looking out for my wellbeing!?”

"What!? But I _did_ tell you that!” Simmons cried out before lifting his head just enough to send a glare York’s way. “Stop fucking up our team dynamics!”

“Your team dynamics suck,” York defended. “Back in Freelancer we were all– Wait a second. Freelancer. _Wash._ Where’s Washington!?”

Sarge waved his hand nonchalantly. “Pfft. As if we’d care at all what stupid plan that Blue has in mind. Sneaking up on your white buddy. Stupid Blue. Hope he kills the guy shooting at us so that I can turn around and shoot him in the back. Just as the Good Lord intended!” 

“What?” York replied before looking toward the higher grounds where Wyoming had stuck himself and saw that Wash was sneaking up behind him. “Shit, he’ll get caught, he’ll–” York took a breath and then looked back to Sarge and Simmons. “Sergeant! You can’t really want that… that _Blue_ taking your glorious victory in this battle!”

“Hell _no_ I don’t!” Sarge agreed. “Time to charge–”

“No, no,” York quickly reached out and grabbed Sarge’s wrist, making him stay steady. “ _No._ Rather than that, I say we play this _smart._ I say we press an offensive to the East here, all three of us, and push Wyoming back. Give him a _real_ distraction to deal with.”

Simmons shook his head. “You want to literally turn us into a distraction?”

“Not _a_ distraction!” York argued, holding up one finger prominently. “The _best_ distraction. Obviously.”

The two Reds looked at each other.

“Sarge, you can’t be taking this seriously,” Simmons argued. “He’s just trying to help the other Freelancer…”

“Serious is my third middle name, Simmons!” Sarge called out. “Right after _Danger_ and _Ramos.”_

Having _many_ questions, but not nearly enough time to go over them all, York waved them forward. “Come on, guys, I’ll start us off. Let’s take this white sonovabitch out – wow I just realized what that sounded like. Moving forward anyway.”

To his surprise, moving forward was actually went _far_ better than it should have. 

The moment the signal was given, with a scream originating in Simmons’ direction, York was leading the three of them into a sprint from their respective covers to the base of Wyoming’s own grounds. York managed the cover fire for all of the Reds’ inadequacies. 

Wyoming visibly looked shocked by the sudden change up. “What the devil,” he said before standing up and backing up to further himself from the range of their fire. 

Which pressed his back right into Washington’s rifle barrel. 

“Hi, there,” Wash greeted when Wyoming spun around, then he used the butt of his gun to knock their old teammate entirely off his feet, sending him tumbling through the snow and into–

York blinked and Wyoming was now facing Washington with his gun at the ready. 

“What the–” Wash said just before getting the butt of Wyoming’s own rifle to his chin, sending him down to the ground.

“Wash!” York yelled. 

“Looks as though you’ve still not learned anything, old friend,” Wyoming said, aiming for Wash’s head. “Damn shame, that.”

“Hmm, maybe we have enough room for one more Freelancer on this team!” Sarge called out. 

Before York could react, however, there was a guttural roar that interrupted them all. The kind of noise that sent a chill down York’s still very injured spine. 

Wyoming was tackled from her perch by a whirl of white, taken past York and the Reds and into the snow, where a familiar gold dome glared the sunlight back at them. 

“Oh god no,” York muttered as a snarl came from the Meta and it threw Wyoming’s helmet their way. 

“No! Get off me, ol’ chap–” Wyoming let out before there was a strangled cry as the Meta’s arm thrust out in a ripping motion. 

“Oh, fuck,” York said, stepping back as the Meta rose to his feet. 

“Who the fuck is _this_ guy!?” Simmons cried out. 

“Someone trying to steal our battle’s glory!” Sarge replied.

York didn’t have an answer, he just rose his gun, and let a stunned Wash stumbling to his feet above them give an answer instead. 

“Maine!?” Wash cried out.


	59. Recovery One XVIII: Lying in Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been in a very tough place in my life between updating these chapters, and for that I cannot apologize to all of you and thank you for your patience enough. This story means so very, very much to me, as you all can imagine, and having your support and love through all of this has made both writing this fic and getting out this chapter in a rough time possible. So just… thank you all so much. We’re almost there. 
> 
> Special thanks to @analiarvb, @notatroll7, @secretlystephaniebrown, @xhauntedangel, @icefrozenover, @every-survival, LinniLotus, Yin, and @a-taller-tale for the feedback!

_So out of curiosity, are you carrying me over your shoulder out of some low key aggression that’s satisfied to treat me like a sack, or are you trying to save my fragile masculinity by not going full bridal position here?_

“You’re an artificial intelligence, Church, you don’t have any masculinity. Just numbers. And annoyance,” Tex informed him as they raced down the halls of the MOI – racing past memories and horrors and everything in between.

Perhaps it was an act of rare mercy for them that they didn’t have time to stew and reflect on everything around them and what horrific truths they must have meant for them both. 

Maybe. Almost. 

_I guess I’m just more surprised you’re bothering to carry it around at all,_ Church clarified. _I’m not really, y’know,_ using _it or anything._

Tex felt herself scowl as she ignored him and continued forward toward the fight that was sure to come. “Church, we’re not _one_ entity. We’re not _one_ person. Even if at one time we were – if that’s truly what we were before either of us can even remember that as a possibility – there’s no way we can be that again now. We’re different. We’ve grown. We’ve had _experience_ outside of ourselves.”

_So?_ Church asked. _Didn’t stop the program from shoving tiny pieces of me into_ completely _different people._

Shaking her head, Tex couldn’t even believe he’d bring that up. “That’s not been working out so great.”

_I’ll need citations on that claim,_ Church said with a scientifically pompous air about him.

“We’re about to go face your _ugly_ side that’s trying to kill everyone you’ve made friends with over the past year, asshole. What more evidence do you need exactly?” she asked critically.

_Tex, I’m just trying to say, we’re a part of_ each other _now and it’s stupid to pretend that I’m going to be jumping back into my own skin –_ so to speak – _again any time soon._ He paused, a little awkwardly. _Like I hate to bring this up, but I’m not entirely sure I know…_ how _to untangle us at this point either. Look, I’m new to this whole numbers-and-code thing._

Annoyed, Tex kicked down an obstructing door. “You’re actually not. You’re not new to it at all. That’s _part_ of the problem. And for the record, I never said I was carrying around this husk of a body for _you.”_

The door she kicked down clattered on the ground and left them staring forward at Caboose who was innocently staring right back before happily waving. 

“Hey, Tex! Glad you found Church! Did you see the little Church man? I’m going to feed him crackers.”

_If you let him see me like this I swear to god I’ll delete both of us._

Tex smirked. “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”

“Okay!” Caboose replied readily. 

_Fucksake_ Church groaned in what attempted to pass as annoyance but radiated through Tex like affection.

“Caboose, our friends need help,” she explained to him.

“Oh no! We need to go!” Caboose announced before hesitating. His head tilted. “ _Tucker_ isn’t one of those friends is he? I don’t know about saving Tucker…”

“I don’t… was Tucker even on the camera feed?” Tex asked.

_No. Which is its own problem to sort out for later,_ Church answered nonchalantly. 

“It’s Wash and some of the Reds,” Tex translated. 

“Agent Washington!?” Caboose gasped. “Let’s go help–”

Before the words were finished escaping Caboose’s mouth, there was a rush of air past them. Caboose even wavered on his feet unsteadily. 

“What was that?” Caboose asked, looking after the direction of the gust of wind. 

“The doors opened. Our friends are outside,” Tex answered.

“Right! Go help–” Caboose began to rush forward but Tex grabbed his shoulder to keep him back for a moment.

“Caboose, I want to give you a _special_ job,” she explained.

“Oh?” Caboose asked back.

“I want you to help the _white_ guy,” Tex explained. “Being on the receiving end of your help before has taught me that this is the **best** course of action we have.”

_I double that assessment,_ Church muttered.

“I’m going to help, Tex!” Caboose assured her. “And then we’re all going to help little Church eat crackers. _It’s gonna be great!”_

Tex glanced to her shoulder where Church’s body was still hanging over it while Caboose ran for the exit. 

A small, white projection of Church appeared where she was looking. “What? I can _feel_ you smirking.”

“Well, you asked what I was carrying you around for, right?” she asked mischievously. “Now I’m going to show you how you’re going to help us out.”

“Fuck, this is going to make me pissed, isn’t it?” Church groaned. 

* * *

As he lived and breathed, it was _Maine._

Washington stared at his former teammate, utterly struck by the fact that yet another Freelancer had come falling into his already crowded and confusing life, shocked by how his old life and new seemed to be consistently at odds. 

And by the fact that _apparently_ Maine had just saved them by ripping Wyoming’s implants violently from his head. 

Which left a lot of questions, but mainly _what side was Maine on._

Slowly raising to his feet, Washington maintained a certain wariness. There was something just inconceivably wrong with the bulky way that Maine moved, with the snarling and huffing that was coming from him that was utterly different from what Wash had known before.

He knew Maine had been a high priority target of the Recovery team – so high that Wash had not been granted permission to go after him even by the time _that_ whole dynamic fell apart. But he had not received in depth briefings. 

All he knew was that Maine supposedly killed Carolina in the final raid on the Mother of Invention.

But now he knew that Carolina was far from dead. 

“My god, none of us know how to communicate,” he surmised in horror before looking over to York. “Have _you_ got some answers for this!? _Good_ ones?”

“No,” York yelled back. “Just the kind that _super suck_ now that he has another AI _and_ Wyoming’s enhancement.”

Eye twitching in irritation, Wash all but threw up his arms. “Right there! You just screamed out like _three things_ that are need-to-know information that _I have absolutely no context for!”_

York shook his head and then looked at Wash. “Would you stop screaming at me every three minutes!? Holy fuck, how does your voice reach that high anyway?”

“I believe it’s inferior Blue genetics at play,” Sarge stage whispered. 

“I hate all of you!” Wash hissed.

“We _KNOW!”_ York and the two Reds yelled harmoniously. 

“ _Jesus_ this is a shit show and we’re all going to die and I don’t even know what _for,”_ Simmons bemoaned as Maine turned toward them all.

“Okay, fine, everyone, I’ll give you the short and sweet version!” York ground out. “That guy is Maine. He used to be a Freelancer. He got an AI. Now he gets his jollies by going around, killing the rest of us, stealing our AI and equipment, and adding them to his collection. He’s the one who fucked me over real good and took Delta.”

Washington scowled at York. “How is any of that remotely true? That doesn’t sound like Maine at all!”

“Keep up, Wash, that’s _not_ Maine anymore, it’s the Meta, and that’s _exactly_ what he does because I’ve been on the receiving end of it already! Not to mention what he did to Carolina,” York ground out.

“Or what he did just now in front of us,” Simmons piped up. “Not saying I know who this guy is, but we _did_ just see him rip something out of a guy’s spine who was regularly kicking our asses beforehand.”

“Yeah, that, too,” York nodded.

Angrily, Wash clutched his rifle. “ _Keep up!?_ How the fuck am I supposed to keep up!? I feel like I have, at _most,_ a third of the information right now and you’re asking me to _keep up?_ Seriously? How about _you_ stop wasting time and tell me how the hell we’re supposed to beat this thing?”

“I don’t know!” York answered. “I just fight it and lose all the time. Why do you think I look like I went through ten rounds with a can opener!?”

“You’re useless!” Wash screeched.

“We’re all each other’s got!!!” York yelled back.

“NO!” Wash said with exaggerated waving toward Sarge and Simmons. “We’re _not!”_

York paused for a moment before looking to Sarge. “Sir?”

“You have permission to speak, Red Team Freelancer,” Sarge replied cheerfully.

“Right, that’s getting a touch old. _Anyway,”_ York said before turning his own shotgun around so that the butt was facing Sarge. “Would you do me the honor of testing out your new invention? Seeing as how we’re both men of tastes when it comes to our weapons.”

Even through armor, Wash could tell Sarge had never appeared more delighted in his life. 

“What are you doing?” Wash demanded as Maine’s hulking form turned its attention toward the Mother of Invention.

“Our mutual friends in there are next on the menu for obvious reasons,” York pointed out. He then looked seriously toward Wash. “And I’m tired of friends feeling we didn’t do everything in our power to save them.”

There was something tight and painful in Wash’s chest. But, being an expert at ignoring such things thanks to Blue Team at that point, he elected to point at York warningly. “Actions speak louder than words.”

“Then I think it’s time for some action,” York chuckled.

“You get fucking _one liners_ , too!?” Simmons bemoaned.

Washington wanted nothing more than to join Simmons in the disbelief of the moment, but loathe as he was to admit it, York was _right_ , and Maine – or _whatever_ he had become – was going straight for the Mother of Invention.

And if there was _anything_ Wash had learned recently it was that anything with that sort of focus on death and destruction _had_ to be heading straight toward Blue Team. 

“What are we doing here?” Wash asked York snappishly.

“We’re putting a wall between the ship and the Meta,” York announced. “I think I can get in close as long as I have cover fire, but basically I just need to round all of us toward those cliffs as much as we can and let me in – hopefully the Sergeant wasn’t exaggerating about the modifications he put into this gun.”

“Stop calling him _the sergeant,_ he’s just _Sarge!”_ Wash corrected.

York gave an incredulous look in Wash’s direction and shook his gun. “Wash, for fucking real here, are you going to play ball? Alright, I’ve fucked up in the past, but this thing’s going to _kill_ Carolina if it gets a hold of her – and Tex, too, if you’re right and she’s in there. They already killed Dee. I’d like to get some payback.”

Wash huffed heavily in through his helmet. He absolutely did _not_ appreciate York making _any_ sort of sense. 

But he definitely was. 

“Simmons,” Wash called out, looking to the maroon soldier. “Do you think you can get a line of communication between us and Blood Gulch by using the teleporter?”

Surprised, Simmons stood up straight and shifted in the snow. “I mean, hypothetically it should definitely be possible. It might take me an hour or two to fully reconfigure–”

“I’m going to give you ten minutes,” Wash replied plainly. 

“I can’t do that!” Simmons cried out in protest.

“No? Would you prefer to fight a renegade Freelancer with the rest of us?” Washington asked knowingly. “No? That’s what I thought. Get in contact with Blood Gulch and ask them to send in some able-bodied soldiers _immediately._ We need help.”

“We shouldn’t limit it to able-bodied if we need help from _Blood Gulch,”_ Simmons pointed out. “That puts us down to… I guess the bodyguard–”

“ _Do not_ ask South to come!” York ordered.

“ _Absolutely_ tell South to come,” Wash contradicted. 

“She will shoot us in the back first chance she gets! Did you even bother asking her what happened to North!?” York cried out.

“Wouldn’t be the first time a Freelancer shot me in the back,” Wash said plainly. “Besides, she’s going to fight this… _Meta_ over us.”

“How’d you know it was responsible for North?” York asked, amazed.

“I didn’t,” Wash replied, marching toward Sarge. “I just know know South prefers challenges.”

"You play a dangerous game, Agent Washington,” York mused.

“And you play dumb like the rest of the world can’t figure out you’re compensating for something,” Wash fired back. “Now are you going to move forward so I can give you that cover fire or not?”

“Youch,” York mocked before taking a deep breath and racing forward. “Yo! Meta!” Maine’s hulking form stopped momentarily, turning back, his domed helmet gleaning as a low snarl came out from him. “You and I have some unfinished business!”

Washington took aim and waited for the so-called Meta to make its move first, but as he lined up the shot he heard a distinctive sniffing and sobbing from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and found Sarge wiping at his visor nonsensically.

“Are you crying?” Wash asked critically. 

“I just never thought that the Red Army would produce another soldier as ready to die for its glory as me,” Sarge said between gurgles. “I’m just glad to see the day that Red Team pride his vindicated. It’s like the son I wish I never had.”

“Stop talking, it makes my eye twitch and I need to aim,” Wash ordered.

For an infiltration expert, York had an amazing grasp of hand-to-hand. To the point that even through his anger, Wash was forced to give the man the respect he deserved. 

As the Meta lunged, York ducked below the wide swing and used its exposure to throw an elbow beneath the Meta’s ribs. His momentum carried and he swung around to behind the Meta where he kicked the Meta forward. 

When he watched the balance waver, Wash hesitated. It reminded him of the training room floor. Of a time when he called each of these men and women his teammates. When he didn’t think they could stab each other in the back for more than points on a scoreboard.

When a _scoreboard_ seemed like it was _worth_ stabbing in the back for. 

He stared down his scope and wondered if the _Meta_ was any more a monster than _Maine_ and Wash _himself_ were then. More than any of them were willing to be _then._

And it was about _then_ that Wash realized that he wasn’t saying any of those thoughts out loud but it might as well have been. He hadn’t progressed _that_ much since Doc called him out on it–

“Watch your six, Freelancer!” Sarge yowled out before firing his shotgun right beside Wash, effectively pulling him out of his own existentialism. 

“Shit!” York cried before ducking down into the snow, allowing the Meta to be hit by the spray of buckshot. “That was my _three_!” he corrected.

"Son, I tend to like you, so I will give you an unprecedented warning about my feelings toward insubordination!” Sage howled out. 

Watching as the Meta spun around to face the source of his attack, Washington took a deep breath and aimed for the helmet before firing. The shot bounced off the protective alloy, but the force was still enough to knock it back. And it was also enough to make the Meta step back toward York once more in order to regain balance. 

Quick on his feet as always, York ducked down and pressed forward, shoulder first, for the back of the Meta’s knees, sending it barreling over himself and then rolling out of the path. 

“Take another shot, Wash!” York yelled.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Wash yelled back before taking the shot with his rifle just as the Meta began to reach around with the brute shot. 

The Meta snarled again but once more was exposed for York, this time though it wasn’t a cheap shot the former Freelancer was throwing. Instead he took aim with Sarge’s modified shotgun and fired at the Meta’s abdomen – right where the mesh and metal met. 

“That’ll look great for the Red Army recruitment montage!” Sarge declared.

Wash was almost impressed himself when he saw the Meta drop to one knee, brute shot out of hand. But before York was even on his feet, something drastically changed. 

A multitude of flickering sprites surrounded the Meta’s helmet and, without warning, the Meta became encapsulated in a dome shield.

“He has _more_ modifications!?” Wash yelled out.

York looked back and gave a bodily shrug. “I knew he was collecting them but I wasn’t sure he had–”

“Well we _didn’t_ know and _you_ didn’t share!” Wash cried out. “How the hell were we supposed to know that?”

“Sorry, I’ve been busy being shot at and almost murdered lately, not standing around canyon bases drinking beer and having small talk!” York snapped back.

“There’s room for both!” Wash roared in frustration. “What the hell _else_ can happen!?”

As if summoned, Simmons appeared. “Um, guys–”

“It better be good news,” Wash said flatly without even turning. “Which would be that you were able to contact the others even faster than I told you to.”

“Yeah, no, that’s still going nowhere,” Simmons informed him. “But the bodyguard chick _did_ come through the portal for a minute.”

Wash’s eye began to twitch again. “For a _minute?”_

“Yeah, I told her what was happening and she said to hold up, then went back,” Simmons explained. “Um… Agent Washington… you seem… pretty unhappy.”

“I’m an emotional shell, Simmons. I don’t _get_ unhappy anymore,” Wash warned. “I just anticipate the worst possible scenarios and find myself disappointed when things are _worse_ than predicted.”

“Oh, hey, you trapped the white guy in a dome,” Simmons pointed out. “That’s pretty good. And now Tex is here.”

“What?” Wash asked before turning and seeing Tex’s familiar figure with a cobalt armor over her shoulder. His heart sunk in his chest as the Meta lowered the dome shield. “Oh, no.”

* * *

Tex took in the sight, more than a little shocked at just what a crowd had been gathered around the Meta. Washington, Sarge, Simmons, and–

_Hey, that’s your friend,_ Church pointed out unhelpfully. _Jersey or whatever._

It was an easy enough comment to ignore as she stepped out into the snow. “Holy shit. As I live and breathe, _Agent York_ has joined my favorite gaggle of idiots.”

“Was that meant for me? Because I protest,” Wash said simply. “I am absolutely _not_ with York. Or… an idiot. But that went without saying, which is why I didn’t bother – you know what, just shut up and help us.”

“Shut up and help us, wow you really _have_ become a Blue,” Tex snarked. “And now worry, help’s already here.”

While the Meta snarled, turning on its heels to take in the fact that it was surrounded, Caboose finally caught up with them at the entrance of the ship. He was holding the spike grenade that Tex had found for him. 

“I’m here to help!” Caboose cried out excitedly, flicking the grenade on.

_This idea is stupid as fuck, for the record,_ Church commented.

Just as Caboose was lining up for the Meta, however, he saw Wash and let out a gasp. “Agent Washington! No one let me know that _you_ were here! I would always help Agent Washington over any white guy.”

“Seriously, does no one else hear how that sounds?” York asked.

“We do, we just don’t care,” Simmons retorted.

“Caboose…” Wash said cautiously, eyeing the grenade.

“Caboose, help the right person,” Tex tried to warn. 

“Sure thing, Tex! And the right person to help is my friends!” Caboose yelled out before tossing the grenade straight into the wall beside Tex and Church. 

Everyone, including the Meta, stared for a moment. 

“That was the worst throw. Ever. Of _all time,”_ Wash hissed. 

“Not my fault,” Caboose swore. “Someone put a wall in my way.”

_Goddammit,_ Church bemoaned.

“Everyone down!” Carolina screamed from behind them before tackling both Tex and Caboose, taking them out of the way just before the grenade exploded – sending shrapnel and snow flying out everywhere in an unseeable storm. 

“You came to help? What about the Director?” Tex asked Carolina. 

“What, like he has anywhere to go in that wreck?” Carolina asked. “I checked the sensors, looks like UNSC ships are on their way here. I made a tactical decision.”

"Was that tactical decision to see us all get arrested?” Tex questioned, gripping onto Church’s body’s wrist.

“That would be an added bonus,” she mocked before looking up. “But it’s more than that. This is about unfinished business. It’s about people I’ve used for my own means, and trying to make up for it. People like Maine.” She looked forward, watching as the Meta found itself upright again and began growling and snarling. “I had opportunity to stop him before. I had chances to reach out to him while I was a Recovery agent. And I didn’t. I let this happen. And it’s done nothing but hurt the people around me ever since.” She looked back meaningfully toward Tex. “And that’s just a little too much like _him_ for my comfort.”

“Or mine,” Epsilon spoke up, appearing on her shoulder. “I… I think I’ve really hurt people in the past. I think it’s time we try to help them.”

Tex looked at them both critically. “Sounds noble enough,” she said stiffly.

_Sounds_ stupid _enough, too. Like yeesh,_ Church answered. 

“But I don’t think there’s anything left of Maine in there for you to apologize too. It’d be best if you let me punch him instead,” Tex pointed out. 

“Only after I’ve tried the… _not_ punching route,” Carolina ordered before moving in toward the Meta. “Agent Maine! This is your commanding officer!” Carolina shouted, getting the creature’s attention. “That’s right, it’s me.”

It snarled and flexed out with the brute shot in its arms. 

Caboose, sitting up with his head tilted, looked toward Tex. “Um. Are we just going to sit here and watch the new Blue Lady do stuff?” Caboose asked. “Or am I still supposed to help?”

“You are _definitely_ not helping!” Tex and Church said at once. 

“We’ve got our own plan, Caboose, sit tight,” Tex assured him before getting to her feet and racing toward where Carolina and the Meta were. 

Despite what they might have anticipated in response to Carolina’s _diplomacy,_ the Meta actually _had_ lowered his dome shield, looking warily toward Carolina as two AI swirled around its helmet – bright yellow and turquoise.

“I’m not here to hurt you, I’m here to help,” Carolina continued to coax. 

The Meta hesitated for a moment before letting out a horrific roar, multiple AI appearing around its helmet at that time. 

“Carolina!” York called out from where the Reds and Wash had ended up, distracting the former Freelancer leader. 

“York!?” she cried out just before the Meta took a swing at her. Fortunately, her speed boost got her out of harm’s way but not without tripping her up and causing an awkward landing to her side. 

"Why do I ever open my mouth?” York bemoaned.

“Isn’t _that_ the million dollar question we all keep asking ourselves,” Simmons griped.

_Hey, Tex, not that_ I’m _the one to be telling you how to hit things… but I can’t help but notice how Mister Tall-and-Growly-and-Hauntingly-Familiar seems a bit distracted at the moment to me. What’cha think?_ Church fired off.

“I’m thinking you read my mind, cheater,” Tex said, launching herself forward and toward the Meta, redirecting her grip of both of her hands to Church’s body’s left ankle. “Hey, AI conglomerate!” she cried out, turning the Meta around toward her. “Looking for someone?”

On cue, Church showed up over her shoulder. “Miss me?” he asked. 

Immediately the plethora of AI around the Meta’s helmet began swarming around, encircling over and over again as if all attempting to steal a glance as they released a disorganized muttering of “Alpha! Alpha! Alpha!” 

“Holy fuck this is creepy,” Church remarked shortly before Tex skidded to a halt right before the Meta and then took Church’s body into the full swing of her momentum. “Oh shit not the face!” 

Church let out a frighteningly high pitched scream as his body collided with the Meta’s helmet, shattering both of their visors. But Tex was far from done, taking the flailing, empty robotic body and continuing to beat the dazed and distracted Meta with it. 

Though it stumbled, the Meta seemed too stunned – not wanting to attack either Tex or Church but also not wanting to create the dome shield again either. Which was fine with Tex because she could keep smacking him around for ages. 

Well, until the Meta had enough and grabbed Church’s arm, ripping it from the rest of the robot.

She then glared toward the others. “You all can get off your asses and help any time you want, y’know!?”

“Yeah, fuckers! We’re pulling _our_ weight!” Church yelled. “Some of us literally!”

* * *

Washington was almost too stunned to move. He stared at the scene in complete shock. 

“What’s going on?” Sarge asked as York stumbled through the snow to meet Carolina half way. “What just happened? I want a full report!”

“From who? Me?  I have no fucking idea!” Simmons’ voice crackled.

“Maine… the Freelancer… he has all the missing AI fragments,” Wash answered, still working with the pieces himself. “They’re in a late state of Rampancy – all of them – the dying stages of an Artificial Intelligence. And they’ve unified somehow… looking for something… or some _one,”_ he then looked to Tex’s shoulder where Church’s sprite shined brightly. “The Alpha… The AI that stated it all.”

“Great, hope they have fun finding him,” Sarge huffed. “We need to grab our Red Freelancer and skiddadle out of here. Doesn’t look like much of a fight for us.” He paused and then put a hand to his chin. “Though, technically, we _still_ have that agreement with Texas.”

“Finding him?” Wash asked, turning on them. “You honestly still don’t get it. There’s no _finding_ the Alpha, the Alpha is already here. He’s _Church!_ Can’t you see that?”

“What? So you’re saying that those AI with the white guy are all pieces of this Alpha. And the Alpha is _Church._ And Church is being used by Tex to slap the white dude around?” Simmons tried to keep up.

“Yes,” Wash said simply. 

“Heh. The Blue’s hitting himself,” Sarge chuckled. 

“That doesn’t seem physically possible,” Simmons said, scratching at his helmet. 

“Yes, well, none of us seem to fall toward convention, do we?” Wash asked. He then glared at Simmons. “You said South was coming with reinforcements…”

“Oh, yeah, they are,” Simmons nodded. “They just have to figure out how to fit them through the portal first.”

Wash squinted. “What do you mean by _fit?”_

No sooner had the words left his mouth than there was a loud, crackling, booming sound in the distance, drawing all of their attention around the mountainside to where green electricity was dancing though the air.

“Wonderful,” Wash muttered. 


	60. Recovery Two XVIII: The Party Don’t Stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am… I’m not sure how to feel considering that we’re a single chapter away from it just being done for good and that’s… wow this is literally the largest thing I have ever written to completion in my life and I’m just… really grateful for everyone who has come on this journey with me because I know it’s been a very very wild ride at the times, had its ups and downs, but it means a lot to have had all of you traveling that road with me. I hope I do you all justice as we wrap things up. And, who knows, I think I have a few surprises still in store for you who think you know how this all ends ; ) 
> 
> Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @notatroll7, @analiarvb, @xhauntedangel, @washingtonstub, @every-survival, @icefrozenover, Yin, and irismon for the feedback!

South honestly had _no_ idea what she was to expect on the other side of the transporter’s green flash and nauseating sense of repositioning. But she _really_ could have predicted almost anything other than the Red nerd running face first into her chest plate. 

“Ow!” he whined, hitting the snow.

Theta popped up over South’s shoulder and tilted his head at the Red. “You should really watch where you’re going.”

Annoyed, South put a fist into the palm of her hand. “Or he was just volunteering to be the first thing I punched while I was here, which would be _very_ kind of him,” South answered threateningly. 

Humming, Theta looked toward the Red almost sympathetically. “You could always apologize. I’ll put a good word in for you.” 

“Ah! You’re the bodyguard! This is great!” he said, scrambling back to his feet. “Don’t tell the others that I ran into you. Just let them think I contacted you. I honestly had no idea how I was going to do that anyway, but Washington is _really_ scary when he wants something done.”

Lowering her hands, South looked incredulously at the simulation trooper. “You’re intimidated by _Wash?_ What the fuck kind of soldier is intimidated by Wash?”

“One who doesn’t want to get shot?” he replied. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he kind of _really_ hates people in Red armor. I’m in maroon armor. It’s the second most Red armor of the team. I basically have a target on me. Which isn’t supposed to happen because it’s not like I’m _Grif!”_

A bit alarmed, Theta put a hand over his mouth. “Oh no! Why is there a target on Kaikaina?” 

“Who?” the trooper replied. 

“You mean her brother, I’d hope,” South said warningly. “Especially since I _am_ her bodyguard and all. Wouldn’t really appreciate people threatening my protectorate.” 

Theta glanced at her sidelong. “That’s not what that word means.”

“Shut up,” South said before could even finish. 

“Okay, _how many_ of the floating holographic guys are there?” Simmons finally asked. “That one dude that everyone’s freaking out about already has, like, at least half a dozen.”

“What?” South asked, looking at him seriously. “ _What_ new white guy!?”

Simmons’ head tilted even further. “The… one who _isn’t_ the Wyoming guy trying to kill us?”

South’s eyes narrowed and Theta throbbed uneasily in her head. “Is _this_ white guy _also_ trying to kill you even though he isn’t Wyoming?” she asked seriously.

“Well, I thought that went without saying these days,” Simmons shrugged. “I mean… who have we met in the past week who _hasn’t_ been trying unreasonably hard to kill us?”

Looking back toward the teleporter, South cracked her neck from side to side. “That means it can only be _one_ person,” she said resolutely.

“Yep,” Theta nodded along with her.

Looking less than convinced, Simmons glanced between the two of them. “Really? You think it can only be _one other_ guy on the whole planet who’s wearing white armor? What _is_ it with you Freelancer guys?”

“It’s the guy who killed my brother, asswipe, show some respect!” South snapped at him. “Pretty damn sure he’s the _other_ guy in white armor who is trying _extraordinarily_ hard to be a pain in my ass and kill us all for AI and enhancements.”

Shocked, Simmons raised up his hands defensively. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry! I didn’t know about the brother thing! Jesus. Everyone’s randomly revealing siblings and babies and craziness today!”

“Crazy…” South trailed off. “You haven’t _seen_ crazy yet today,” she announced before grabbing Simmons by his chest plate’s strap and pulling him up to her. “Alright, asshole. You run back to the others and tell them I’m bringing you some backup you _sure as hell_ probably don’t deserve. And you tell them that if _anyone_ is killing this bastard it’s _going to be me,_ got it?” 

Visibly shaken, Simmons looked side to side for help that wasn’t anywhere to be found. “I-I _think_ I can remember that? Maybe not all of that… would you be okay with some paraphrasing?”

“No,” South snapped.

“Then let me write it down!” Simmons begged.

“Oh my god we’re wasting time _talking_ ,” South groaned. 

“Yeah, it’s all we know how to do, maybe you all should try it more,” Simmons offered before South pushed him to the snow. 

“Go hold off the Meta with the others. I’ll be coming with reinforcements.”

“Can I just tell everyone _that_ part instead?” Simmons asked, but South was officially done listening to him.

“Just do what I said or I’ll punch you,” South warned as she headed back toward the bright green light of the teleporter.” Just as she began to step through, she could hear the rustling of the snow behind her as Simmons walked off. 

“Man you sound just like Tex,” he sighed.

A subconscious twitch came to South’s eye and she nearly turned around to question that statement, but she was already far enough into the teleportation field that she found herself whirling through space and landing in the confusing annoyance that was the box canyon from earlier.

And despite everything, Kaikaina and her brother were still sitting on the same ledge where she had left them. Except the turquoise one from the Horrific Incident That Shall Not Be Named was behind them. 

“Oh wow, did you kick ass that fast? You’re, like, the best fake bodyguard ever!” Kai exclaimed.

“Or the worst,” Grif said, looking South up and down. “That was too fast. She _definitely_ ran away from the fight. Everyone we know is probably dead already.”

“Oh, like you’d do anything different,” the turquoise one said with a flick of his wrist. 

“I didn’t say I’d do anything different. I think it’s the smartest fucking thing _any_ of these Freelancer assholes have done since they met us,” Grif announced before looking back toward South. “Congratulations. Hope you enjoy the good life with the rest of us survivors.”

South leered. “I did _not_ come here because I was running. I came back here because circumstances have changed. I need equipment, and I need men.”

“Ah, fuck, I was hitting on you this whole time, too,” Kai groaned. “Can you settle for a strap on?”

“Wait what?” Grif said immediately.

The turquoise one turned so quickly on his heels he nearly toppled over. Though he then tried to make it work for him (it didn’t) by leaning back against a pillar and giving South two finger guns. “Hell _oooo._ My name’s Lavernius Tucker. Single father. Lover. _And_ love doctor.”

South stared at him. “I saw an alien burst out of your stomach, like, two hours ago.”

“Yeah, I mentioned the single father line already,” Tucker replied casually.

“You know what, I honestly don’t care,” South said flatly before looking around. “Where’s Four Seven Niner and that tank? And I saw a M12 ATV parked in front of the Red Base earlier. I’ll take that, too. We’ll need all of it _and_ anything you might’ve hidden away in the respective armories of this purgatory of canyon.”

"Wow, they really _must_ teach you Freelancers something special. It took me at _least_ a week before I realized that this canyon is literally the first footstep into Hell,” Grif said flatly.

“Uh, if you mean Sheila and her new lady friend who _totally_ doesn’t seem down with babysitting when Doc asked to take turns, they’re down there. On the ground. Where the giant tank is,” Tucker announced with a thumb toward the edge of the base.

“Are you talking about the alien? Why is that thing not dead yet?” South asked.

Theta appeared and shook his head. “South, that’s rude.”

“Yeah, we don’t shoot dogs!” Kai snapped.

“Dude! I told you, that’s my kid!” Tucker snapped at her.

“Wow, your kid looks _just_ like a dog,” Kai replied.

“Smooth,” Grif snarked. 

“Where’s the ATV?” South asked, while nearing the edge of the base to leap off. 

“Are you talking about the Warthog?” Grif asked. “Which, of course, would be stupid if it was named _absolutely anything else.”_

“I’m not in on your inside jokes and I don’t care for your attitudes,” South snapped, looking over her shoulder. “I need _weapons_ and I need _men_ to shoot those weapons. Or. Better yet, to just shoot them myself. So are you going to offer me any of that besides the first two?”

“Lady,” Grif said plainly, “inside jokes and attitude is literally the only thing that this canyon can’t take out of my cold, dead hands.”

“Fair enough,” South said before dropping down to the ground below the base. 

Theta hummed with curiosity, fireworks going off behind his avatar. 

“What is it?” South asked without giving him a full glance.

“You ever notice that these people don’t seem too curious about the fact that you have an AI?” he asked. “It’s kinda weird. But I _do_ guess they have a talking tank.”

“Theta, I literally could not care less about the inconsistencies with this box canyon,” South said with a shake of her head. “There’s a much bigger story to keep our eyes on. Like. Surviving. And. Conspiracies with large military industrial complexes.”

“Yeah, but the canyon part _does_ leave more room for creativity,” Theta attempted to argue.

“And the embodiment of creativity killed North, so I think we should stop extrapolating and get back to work,” South said, standing in front of a giant Scorpion canyon that slowly turned its main canon toward her and Theta. “Fuck. Didn’t think this through.”

"South?” Niner’s familiar voice called from the tank. 

While South concentrated on the tank, she watched in her peripheral vision as the driver door lifted up and Niner arched over the edge enough to get a good look at South. 

“Yeah, hi,” South said, glancing toward Niner before warily reconcentrating on the tank. “Are you going to shoot me? Because a lot of people from the past lately seem pretty intent on that so I’d like some formal heads up.”

“I don’t feel like shooting you today, I’m just glad you’re alive,” Niner replied. “I was told otherwise.”

“Funny how that keeps being the case for everybody,” South said stiffly. “Unfortunately, North is dead. For real. You can ask my AI if you don’t trust me. Them supposedly not being able to lie and whatnot.”

“I’m increasingly doubting that’s the case the more I have to deal with the tiny assholes,” Niner announced. She nodded toward Theta. “Present company excluded.”

“Um, thanks?” Theta shrugged back. 

“North being dead means I’ve got scores to settle, too,” South continued to explain. “Tons of them. And I’d like to take your tank to help in that endeavor since the one who _killed_ North happens to be the _Meta.”_

That seemed to take Niner by complete shock. “You know about the Meta?”

“I know to my former employer, his capture was more important than _my life,”_ South replied. “So, what do you say? Drive a tank to victory for me?”

“Excuse me,” the tank piped up. “I do believe that this is something you should be asking _me_ for.”

“You’re right,” Theta answered, projecting closer to the tank. “ _Please?”_

“Oh what a delightful fellow construct! I would absolutely love to be of assistance! Especially if it involves shooting Freelancers,” the tank said happily.

“Great,” South said, sidestepping away from the tank’s canon only to have it follow. “You two head over to the teleporter and I’ll go get _my_ transportation.”

“Teleporter?” Niner asked before turning to glance up at Blue Base. “You mean _that_ fucking thing? How the hell are we supposed to get Sheila in there? It’s too small of a hole–”

“WAAAAAIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTT!!!” a primal scream came from the base, causing all three to turn and face the ramp as Tucker came barreling down it. He ran the entire way, a small dark skinned, alien creature in hot pursuit. They both stopped just short of the three women and Tucker grabbed his knees, breathing hard. “Okay. Ready.” He stood back up and fired shotgun fingers at the three of them. “Baby, no hole’s too small, we can make it work.”

South glared at him. “I’m going to shoot you now.”

“Wait,” Niner said, holding up her hand. “Alien-baby-dude? Are you saying your dick’s small enough for any hole?”

Almost immediately, Tucker went rigid. “What!? No! I–”

“ _Bow chicka honk honk!”_ the alien creature cooed. 

"Aw, that’s adorable,” South joined in snarkily. “I think I might’ve given men a chance if more of them took pride in their small dicks.”

Niner snorted and banged on the side of the tank as Sheila’s canon nodded up and down with an “Oh my.”

“Hey, is that anyway to talk in front of a newborn?” Tucker demanded, throwing a thumb in the alien’s direction. It honked in response. 

“Okay, this has gotten supremely stupid,” South determined before pushing forward. “Niner, you and the tank get ready. We’re going to expand that portal hole and I’m going to grab the–” South stopped as well as the others did when there was something loud playing in the distance, echoing off the canyon walls. “Is… Is that _polka music?”_

There was an exuberant scream as the ATV South had taken notice of before came flying over a hill and bounced into a landing, turning widely to circle back around and face them all. Three people were already in it.

“Fucking _yes!_ Do it again! I love the vibration from the motor when we jump,” Kai shouted from the passenger seat, hitting on the dashboard. “I think it’s because they say I have an extra large clit.”

“Kai, shut up,” Grif said from the driver’s seat before pausing and turning to more directly face his sister. “Wait what.”

“As a physician who just performed her physical, I can attest to that statement,” the purple armored man in the back said before giving an evil laugh that almost sounded to South like it _had_ to make his throat hurt. “Of course the best part of this was knowing that every excruciating detail of her physical would be used as supposed preexisting conditions and penalize her for any medical insurance. Bwahaha.”

“Pfft, lived _this_ long without any,” Kai said flippantly, waving her hand. “Bring it on, Mister Hyde.”

“What are you doing?” South demanded, “I need that vehicle to take with us to get revenge for my brother. None of _you_ have any stake in that.”

“Lady, you ain’t kidding,” Grif replied with a snort. “But my asshole teammates are out there and… Well, if something could kill a Freelancer, obviously they’re pretty fucked without my skills as the handy getaway driver.”

“Dude, whatever, you seen Wash?” Tucker asked. “He gets a new bullet hole in him on the hour. As far as I can tell, we avoid death _way_ better than any of these elitist fuckers. I mean. Who’ve we lost so far that hasn’t come back to life? Even _Sarge_ survived a shot to the head.”

“Hey! He survived that because of _my_ mouth to mouth!” Grif proclaimed. “Even Doc said so!”

It took a moment for the commotion that was everyone talking over one another to fully sink in for South, and even once it had, she wasn’t sure she fully believed what her own ears were hearing. Her eyes sharply shifted between the group gathered around the enormous tank and the group gathered around the so-called Warthog.

“You – _all_ of you – want to come with me and do this? What the hell for?” she demanded. 

“Uh, _not_ for you? I just explained the thing about being the getaway driver,” Grif replied. 

“I have to work off this baby weight,” Tucker shrugged. 

“I’ve _got_ to go where my bodyguard’s heading, where else is she supposed to protect me? Fuck, you suck at this job,” Kai joked. 

“There’s a possibility that there will be severe injuries that might need treated,” Doc spoke up. “I mean, I’ve not saved anyone _yet,_ but who’s to say I can’t in the future!” He then let out another low laugh. “Or simply watch my enemies’ inevitable demise!”

“Yeah, _swelling_ with confidence with that one around,” Niner snarked. “I’m going because I owe it… I owe it to Carolina, York, Wash… and you, South. I owe it to you to not let you go in there without a giant ass tank behind you.”

“I might finally learn what happened to Lopez if I follow,” Sheila announced. “I _do_ worry about him. It seems like so much has happened _outside_ of the canyon. And he has never returned my calls.”

South scowled. It was the same as always, everyone was working toward their own ends. 

Theta appeared over her shoulder and looked at her quietly. “People can work for multiple reasons, South. We’ve just gotta trust we all want the same thing.”

Glaring back at him, South shook her head. “And where I am I supposed to get confidence about _that_ being the case for everyone else? I don’t trust _anyone.”_

“Gotta learn to _try_ to,” Theta offered. “Just like I learned to trust you.”

Swallowing, South looked away. Theta didn’t have to say the rest of that too true assessment. _Just like she had learned to trust_ him, _too._

“We’ve got to make that hole bigger,” South announced. “And gather as much shit as possible.”

“ _Bow chicka honk honk,”_ the alien cooed again.

“Fucking _really,_ Tucker?” Grif asked critically.

“Dude, I didn’t teach him that, it’s genetic,” Tucker replied.

“I already hate everything about this,” South lied under her breath.

…

In truth, South was not sure how they managed it. But the fact that Niner was somehow able to _pout_ about the fact that they wouldn’t try to fit her pelican in, too, was almost enough to make the disbelief wear off. 

South stood on the back of the Warthog and gave everyone warning looks. “I don’t care what everyone’s goal is once we get to the other side–”

“ _If_ we get on the other side,” Tucker called from his seat on the tank with the tiny alien in his lap. “Just saying, every time _I’ve_ been through the thing it’s been fucked.”

“The thing I _care_ about,” South continued, unfazed, “is that the creep in the white armor is mine.”

“I thought there were _two_ creeps in white armor,” Doc called out from beside her.

“Then they’re _both_ mine. Just in case,” South snapped. “We ready?”

“No,” Grif said at the same time Kai exuberantly smacked the dashboard screaming, “ _Yes!”_

South’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head. This was going to be a disaster.

 _Just a little trust,_ Theta reminded her, as if they were in a goddamn Disney movie. 

“That’s it we’re going through,” South warned, getting in position. “Grif, make this as fast as you fucking can, hopefully the teleporter will collapse _after_ we all get through to the right location.”

“Yeah,” Grif said, revving his engine before hesitating. “Wait what? What the fuck?”

“GO!” Kaikaina screamed, reaching her leg over the gear stick in order to slam her boot down on her brother’s, sending them flying forward. 

There was a multitude of curses but the main objective was being achieved. South couldn’t help but continue to project the feeling that Kaikaina was, by far, her favorite of the weirdos she had discovered along with the other remaining Freelancers. 

 _It’s funny how everyone seems to like these guys,_ Theta said in her mind. _They’re the complete opposite of Freelancer._

 _That’s enough for me to like just about anyone,_ South answered firmly just before they launched through the staticky green light ahead of them and began to once more break apart, molecule by molecule, and form on the other side. 

There was a moment longer than the usual transporter jump where South briefly felt her heart stop and her mind wonder into the sort of territory that was remotely _this was the dumbest way I could have died after all of that._ But the blinding green light exploded into a world of white and distant colored hues and her ears popped with the explosion of it all. 

And surely enough, her entire body bounced with the Warthog as they hit the snowbank directly in front of them and, immediately, stopped their momentum completely. 

South glared forward before looking down to the Grif siblings. “Did you _just_ get us stuck in the snow? _Three seconds_ after we got here? Are you _fucking kidding me?”_

“Hey, I have a very firm rule about backseat driving!” Grif snapped back, throwing the Warthog into reverse and revving the engine in an attempt to pull them out.

“Whoo! Element of surprise!” Kai screamed.

Theta manifested over South’s shoulder and cleared his throat. “Um, South?” he called quietly, pointing in the distance as a hulking white figure approached them. 

There was only one glance South needed to know who was coming their way. “Mother _fucker,”_ she snarled, pushing Doc out of the way and taking command of the gatling gun. 

“Hey, I think that’s the white guy over there,” Kai stage whispered as Grif continued to try to back them out of the snowbank. “Grif! Grif! Tell me if I got the color right! It’s just like when we were kids! Only this time I won’t be asking you what color dicks are!”

“What!?” Grif cried out just before managing to get them out of the snow and slinging all of them around. 

Barely managing to hold on, South shot the gatling gun toward the sky instead of at her target, causing a string of curses to escape her that Theta fled back into the recesses of her implants in fear. 

Doc wasn’t so lucky and ended up face first in the very snowbank they had managed to only narrowly escape. 

“Hey!” Grif shouted back at South. “Is _that_ the guy trying to kill everyone? The one with the stupid helmet?” 

“Yes!” South yelled back.

“Sweet!” Kai called out before slamming her foot down on her brother’s again to send them flying toward the Meta, Grif yowling in pain in the process. 

Before South could even think twice, the Warthog lunged forward aimed directly at the Meta. The move itself seemed to take _everyone_ by surprise as a few colorful sim troopers all but leapt out of the way as the vehicle hit its mark and went cruising toward the wrecked Mother of Invention. 

The Meta slammed against the hood of the Warthog, roaring and snarling as it scratched at the metal and reached for the front window. Which caused the two Grifs to scream harmoniously.

Seeing the golden opportunity approaching, South pulled her brother’s rifle out from over her shoulder. “Duck!” she screamed at the Grifs. 

“Okay!” Kai cried as she did so.

“Why!?” Grif yelled just before South took her shot through the window. “Jesus christ!” 

Theta appeared right over South’s shoulder as the chest plate of the Meta burst open with the intensity of the armor piercing bullet. He glanced toward her, a readout of the energy signatures from the Meta flying across South’s visor. 

“That cut a major power supply, but his bioscans are still off the chart, I think he has a suped up healing unit that’s repairing his chest cavity,” Theta explained. 

“How is that possible?” South demanded, reloading. 

“I don’t know, if they have enough AI they can probably assign one to each task,” Theta announced. “Impact three… two…”

For reasons she could not explain in the moment, South grabbed Kai’s back plating, kicked the girl’s brother out into the snow, and then leaped with Kai in tow off of the Warthog just before it slammed, Meta in tow, into the side of the Mother of Invention. 

South hit the snow shoulder first and rolled with Kai, protectively shielding her as the Meta roared and attempted to–

The Warthog was almost hitting the siding of the ship but the Meta was beneath it, dropping to the snow under the Warthog and saving itself from damage as the vehicle crashed above him.

“What the fuck!?” York’s all too familiar voice called out from the other side of the snowy clearing. “Did anyone else just see that!? Seriously, did anyone–”

“It has the time distorter!” Carolina yelled. “It was Wyoming’s unit.” 

Angrily, South looked over to them all, watching as the other Reds gathered around Grif and helped him up. Tex was standing not too far from them with a Blue and some _other_ Blue slung over her shoulder. 

“Does _no one_ besides my brother know how to stay _fucking dead!?”_ South screamed out.

As South got to her feet, helping Kai up in the process, Washington led the others to a tighter formation toward them, they were all still surrounding the Meta who was rolling out from underneath the wrecked Warthog. 

“We need to _stop_ him,” Wash growled out. “Suggestions?”

“I was the one tasked with stopping him, but Niner ran as my second pair of eyes,” Carolina informed them all. “I never managed to fully complete the mission for a number of reasons. One of them being that he’s just too damn creative with how he’s using all of the stolen enhancements.”

“Someone say my name?” Niner’s voice crackled over the radio, turning all heads toward the transporter where, at long last, the tank and its occupants got through. “You would _not_ believe the bumpy ride we just had!”

“Niner!” Carolina yelled out in relief.

“Can you fucking blow the Meta to the sky?” South demanded. 

“Wow, that’s the quickest I have ever seen someone resort to a Plan B in the history of ever,” Niner scoffed while Sheila took aim with her cannon. 

“Wait! It has a dome shield!” Washington yelled out, close proximity causing everyone close to him to flinch back. “Any explosion will bounce off and hit the rest of us!”

“Why the fuck are you screaming, you idiot? Turn your radio on,” South snapped.

“Dude, don’t call Wash an idiot!” Tucker called, leaping down from the tank, the alien creature sitting on his shoulders. “Everyone who _doesn’t_ have their radios off right now is a fucking idiot. If this thing is super powerful because it has a bunch of AI, and Omega’s big deal was that he hopped around using our radio signals, then anyone _not_ turning off their radio is like a huge fucking liability right now!”

Everyone stared at Tucker.

“What the fuck is that?” Washington said, breaking the momentary silence. 

“What the fuck is what?” Tucker asked while the alien chewed on his helmet. “Oh, you mean Junior? Yeah, I guess you all missed it! This is Junior, I just gave birth to him.”

“No,” Grif growled. “Unfortunately we _didn’t_ miss it.”

“It was like a pro-abortion commercial,” Kai explained to the others. “I’ve never been more confident in my life choices like _ever.”_

South blinked. “Wait, _what?”_

"Wait! Everyone shut up!” a screechy voice South had never heard before demanded.

When she looked toward it, however, South found herself starring down an all too familiar armor. Tex was approaching from the flank and somehow that voice was coming from her as she continued to hold the Blue over her shoulder. 

“Church–” Tex began only for a bright white light to shine over her shoulder. “Goddammit. We’re not even going to discuss this. You little fucker–”

“Hey!” the white light called before forming a sprite not at all dissimilar from the kinds that many of the Freelancer AIs wore. “You fucks are _in trouble._ Look who’s got their radio on.”

Theta all but _gasped_ through South’s own mouth, making her step back in shock. “The Alpha!” he cried out.

No sooner had he said it than Maine’s body stood rigid, a multitude of AI swarming around his domelike head. Chants of _Alpha Alpha Alpha_ echoed eerily from it. 

“Goddammit, Church!” Tex snarled just before she dropped the Blue’s body and held up her fists. “Alright, assholes. You want some? You’ve gotta come _get_ some.”

All at once, the circling AI came together in a flurry of light and obnoxious humming that sent everyone with their radios on reflexively flinching back, including South. She grabbed at the edges of her helmet and dropped to her knee, feeling like Theta was going to vibrate right through her skull. 

“Theta!” she growled.

Then, as soon as it started, the AI disappeared and Maine dropped to his knees as well, letting out a guttural noise just before having to support himself with one fist through the snow. 

Washington was the first to turn toward Tex, looking mortified. “Tex!?” 

“Oh, fuck!” Tucker cried out. “Tex!? Church!?”

“Tucker,” Tex gritted out. “Remember how you put this body together?” she demanded. “Remember where all the important power pieces are?” 

Tucker looked at her confusedly before suddenly igniting a bright plasma sword right before everyone’s eyes. “Yeah…?”

South looked over the simulation troopers and then went back to staring at the sword in Tucker’s hands. “Who the fuck _are_ you people!?” she found herself thinking out loud. 

"You’re going to need to use that to dismantle me as quick as possible,” Tex informed him.

“What the fuck,” Tucker said for everyone.

“This just got heavy,” York muttered loudly.

“We could have simply let the Blues tear each other apart this whole time!? How could we have not used this foolproof plan before now?” Sarge howled. “Surely it is somehow Grif’s fault.”

“What are you talking about? They’ve literally been killing each other since the start,” Grif pointed out. “Except for that time Donut killed Tex.”

“Thanks for the shoutout!” Donut called from the safety of the tank.

“But… But what about Church?” the large Blue asked, picking up the limp body that Tex had dropped. “I don’t want you to be in pieces either, Tex. I’d like us all to just go home now. Together. Minus Tucker.”

“Goddammit, you guys, don’t you trust me!?” Tex roared. “Take me apart and take me apart _right the fuck now_ before these bastards get control over us!”

Everyone was still stunned into silence when South lifted North’s sniper rifle, aimed for Tex’s head and fired a shot right in the middle of everyone, eliciting more than a few screams. 

“I told you,” she said coldly to everyone around her, “I called dibs on the one who killed my brother.”

“Holy shit, you’re a badass,” Kai laughed.

“Church! Tex!” Tucker and Wash cried out, nearing the body laying in the snow, sparking from the top of its shoulders. 

“Tucker, you fucking idiot, we told you to start tearing us apart!” 

Everyone let out a confused ‘huh’ and looked over toward the tall Blue holding the limp Blue’s body. Except it wasn’t limp anymore and instead was shoving against the hulking Blue’s chest. 

“Goddammit, Caboose, let go of me!” the Blue demanded. Then, in Tex’s voice, “Luckily, _I’m_ aware enough of our surroundings to figure _some_ asshole here would do the hard part and jumped us just before things went whammy. Now, Tucker, tear that body into pieces so that the AI stuck in it don’t get any grand ideas about using any of the hundreds of weapons I’ve got stored away in there.”

Washington looked at Tex with a tilt of his helmet. “That seems like a bit of an exaggeration.”

"No one asked you, Wash,” both voices snapped simultaneously.

“Alright, alright, I get it, my three hours of tinkering means I have to now take you apart. Jesus. I’d never have agreed to that if I knew it was going to come back and bite me in the ass,” Tucker groaned, setting the alien on his shoulders back on the ground then nearing the black armored body. “C’mon, Junior, I’ll show you what it’s like to play with Legos. Except human body parts sized.”

South stared at the scene with a strange, discomforting quiet. Her mouth pressed tightly to a thin line as she stared at them all. 

“Hey,” Kai called, approaching her side. “You shot her head off! Good on you. You feel better?”

Theta stayed quiet, and despite wanting to join him, something compelled South to answer. 

“Not at all,” she answered. “There… There are a _lot_ of people I’d like to see pay before I’m going to feel good about anything _relating_ to Freelancer.”

There was an ominous silence shared by the fellow survivors around her. 

“Cool,” Kai said. “What’s Freelancer?”

Before there could truly be an answer to the most ridiculous but reasonable questions South had ever been asked in her _life,_ there was a horrible roaring from Maine. It was a primal, hateful sound that was full of malice as he charged. But just before anyone could react, the tank came rolling down the hill, comically snatching Maine out of his position before ultimately coming to a stop with him grasping and clawing to no avail under the tank’s treads. 

“He is _much_ tougher than he looks!” the tank’s AI complimented. 

Niner popped out from the cockpit and shrugged. “Seemed like a shame to bring a tank and not use it.”

“I have the same saying about big guns,” Donut said cheerily from his perch. 

“Okay, but what are we supposed to with _that_ thing now?” Simmons asked, pointing toward Maine. “I mean… we probably _shouldn’t_ have someone dissect it with a sword.”

“Absolutely not!” Carolina snapped. “Besides, Tex and I saw from the ship, there are UNSC investigators on their way here. We just need to hold Maine and get our story straight.”

“It won’t matter what the story is,” South snorted, shaking her head at the naivety. “Don’t know what wonderful dreamworld you all live in, but I happen to know for a _fact_ that the UNSC is going to come here looking for someone to blame. And Freelancers seem pretty high on the top of that list of good scapegoats, don’t they? Steal our armors, take our enhancements, put us on trial, lock us up, shut us up. Or maybe offer some of you a deal to work for them indefinitely on suicide missions. Been there. Done that. It fucking _sucks_ , just for reference.”

York crossed his arms. “Anyone ever tell you that professing to a history of backstabbing and double crossing isn’t the _greatest_ reflection of someone’s character?” 

“Anyone ever tell you that I haven’t wanted anything more than to spend the rest of my life punching you in the dick?” South demanded. 

“Everyone stop,” Carolina spoke up, holding up her hands. 

“Sure thing, Boss,” Wash said all too easily.

“No. _No_ sure thing, _Boss,”_ South growled out. “You’re not a leader anymore, Carolina, because we’re not a team. We never were.”

“God, these guys have so many fucking issues,” Grif bemoaned. 

“I may not be a leader,” Carolina agreed, “but I have information that might save _all_ of us once the UNSC is here wanting to arrest us all. And it’s only going to work if some of us can get our shit together and _actually work together_ to make sure he doesn’t get away.”

“He?” South and Wash echoed at the same time. 

“The Director is inside the Mother of Invention,” Carolina explained. “And we’re going to make sure he stays that way.”

The three of them looked at each other, then to the crowd of miscreants that had all gathered together for the colossal mess that had been the last fifteen minutes.

But only Kai was looking South’s way. 

“That one of the people you need to cross off to feel better?” she asked genuinely.

South thought about it and exhaled firmly through her nose. “Yeah,” she said lowly. “Yeah, it is.” She looked warily toward Carolina and Washington. “Why the three of us?”

“Because, we’re all Recovery Agents,” Carolina announced, somewhat surprising South and utterly flooring Washington by the looks of it. “And he’s the last piece of this puzzle we need to recover.”

“Go on,” York said, walking toward them. “I’ll help everyone hold down the fort and slow the UNSC when they get here. I’m good at talking things over,” he reminded them. 

“According to _who?”_ South asked skeptically. “Nevermind, I don’t even have the attention span for mocking you right now. I want to kick the Director’s ass. Maybe shoot him.”

“We need him _alive,”_ Carolina argued firmly.

“There are nonlethal ways to shoot people,” Wash said darkly.

“See, Wash gets it,” South said, leading the walk toward the Mother of Invention. “And I’m more than ready for this all to be _over.”_


	61. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re… here. We’re at the end. I am… completely and utterly stunned and don’t know what to say but… we’re here. I’ve completed the literal longest thing I have ever written and there are not words to describe how I feel about this journey. I feel completely different from the person who started this fic, I feel like the fandom is completely different from when I started this fic. And wow. It’s just been such a journey and the support and love and commitment of you guys who have supported me all along – like you all deserve awards. Putting up with my laziness and scheduling issues and everything in between. You guys are awesome and I cannot thank you enough.
> 
> Now, while this is the end, I do want you to know – for those who would be interested – that I will be eventually writing a sequel for this that will deal with our Recovery gang and the Chorus arc. I’m really excited and scared about it, but it’s a while off. So anyone who wants know how things end up after the ending, hopefully I’ll be getting that out to you sooner than later. Also hopefully less than 61 chapters because let’s be honest, this fic is a monster haha
> 
> Sincerely, thank you every single person who has supported me throughout this fic. It wouldn’t happen without you. And a special thanks to @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @notatroll7, @every-survival, @washingtonstub, @icefrozenover, Yin, Red, meep, and @a-taller-tale for the feedback!

South and Washington had looks on their faces as if they knew _exactly_ what steps were coming before them. Like there was nothing at all to be hesitant about. The wind had _just_ picked up their sails and it was going to take them forward. It was going to take them to the End. 

But Carolina, despite her harsh words, had hesitation.

 _We have to make him_ pay, _Carolina. This is our chance. You promised we’d make him pay–_ Epsilon was harshly echoing in her mind. 

“I know,” she said lowly before looking back at the crowd that had gathered together in order to secure such a shaky victory for them to begin with. Her gaze was met with York and Niner’s, several yards apart. “They came to help.”

Epsilon appeared over her shoulder. His own gaze was following the other determined Recovery agents who were rushing toward the ship. Then he looked back to Carolina. “Do you want to take a second to talk to them?” he asked. “I mean, literally a second. Because we’ve _gotta_ get going and finish this thing and I’m not so sure how much time I have for mushy stuff–”

“There’s no mushy,” Carolina said dismissively. “And I don’t know what to say because… Never in my life did I have the confidence of knowing that when I turned around, people would still be there. I never had the confidence that what I had done was enough to keep them. And… And both of them have _left me_ before. Even if they were doing what they thought was best. So I’m wondering… especially with as much bad as I’ve done, with as much as I’d have to do before I ever came to a _modicum_ of good… how do I know that they’ll still be there after I leave now?”

Uncharacteristically quieted, Epsilon hugged his shoulders and joined Carolina in gazing at the motley crew that had somehow all been gathered there – for them or not for them. 

“I’ve never had that either,” Epsilon admitted. “And I mean… _me._ Not just… y’know. The guy I was coped from. Or the other guy I was copied from. Or any of the _other_ copies I remember. I mean… _me_ me. Though I don’t think any of them had it either.” He then looked at her directly. “The only person I’ve ever had, the only person I’ve ever _known_ would be there for me no matter how much I fucked up… it’s been _you,_ Carolina.” 

The revelation nearly knocked the breath from her, she kept staring ahead, eyes blurring. She didn’t want to believe him, not on her own instincts, but her mind and that shared _connection_ between them told Carolina that Epsilon was speaking purely the truth. 

“I can’t speak for anyone else here, but I can say, even if they’e not still there when you walk out of here, _I’m_ going to be. Just for as long as you let me pal around,” Epsilon reminded her. “So uh… Trust issues be damned. I’m kinda attached to you, Cee.”

“Whether you want to be or not by this point, I imagine,” Carolina said, finally tearing her gaze away from her former compatriots and heading toward the bowels of the ship again, quickly catching up to the other former Recovery agents. “You know what I want to do once we’re in there, don’t you, Epsilon?”

“Yeah, I’m not just sharing space in here,” he reminded her. “I’m not exactly thrilled. But I guess it’d be nice to know what it’s like just to _live._ I don’t think I’ve got the most experience with it.”

“Same,” Carolina responded before reaching the other two. “He’ll most likely be in the innermost part of the ship. Things are broken up, but for the most part schematics are the same. His private laboratory would be near the training room and seminar room–”

“We’re not idiots, Carolina, we remember where his fucking office is,” South snapped. “Just not so sure about how confident I am in a dead girl’s assurance that he’s still here at all.”

“A dead person’s word usually works better for me than up and up liars,” Washington said darkly. His grip on his rifle could have _not_ been tighter.

Carolina looked at him, rather stunned. “Excuse me?”

“He’s pissy because I knew about him but he didn’t know about me and I failed to mention it in the forty minutes we saw each other before everything fucking exploded in our faces,” South answered for him. “To say nothing of _you._ Even _I_ didn’t know about you. Let alone that you’re special enough to get hooked up with _another_ AI even after the program was torn to shit.”

Epsilon disappeared. But Carolina did not miss the look toward her from Wash. 

He seemed so much harder, so much less forgiving than when they had last talked just a short time ago in the canyon. 

“Wash…” she said lowly. “We’ll explain everything later.”

“Great,” Wash said flatly. “I look forward to knowing exactly why I’m disgusted with all of you later. Until then, I want the Director to know _exactly_ what hell he’s put me through. Us _all_ through. Whether he gave us a second’s thought or not.”

Her voice was lost in her throat as she continued to stare at Wash, Carolina _knew_ that she should have more to say to him, but she didn’t. All she had was the numb guilt throughout her while everything came crashing down. And she wasn’t sure if it was more from _her_ or from _Epsilon_ anymore.

The only thing either of them could think to say were the two words that were seemingly impossible to form. 

_I’m sorry._

Maybe she would find a better way to say them at a later time. Maybe he could forgive her at a later time. But as it stood, the way Carolina felt it in her heart and the way Epsilon was pounding it into her head, she _knew_ better.

There was no better way to apologize. There was no better way to explain how, for so long, someone who promised to lead, to protect, to champion others could spend so much time not thinking of anyone’s aspirations or needs but her own. 

And there was no nice way of explaining that part of how she learned it was through the very AI – the very _person_ – who had caused him so much pain to begin with.

Not to mention, that was _just_ Washington. Carolina hadn’t even mustered the mental capacity of worrying about how to approach South. Not that South was particularly approachable to begin with. 

 _Man you’re piling on the super heavy stuff on us right before we’re about to bust some heads, Cee,_ Epsilon reminded her. _Might want to tone down the guilt just a bit before we get to the hardest part of all of this._

 _I know,_ she answered simply just as they approached the final hall.

“I can’t believe there haven’t been any defenses,” Washington said out loud.

“Ship’s too busted up,” South answered gruffly.

“No, it was the Alpha,” Carolina answered. “He took control of the ship before coming to help us with the Meta… with _Maine._ He must have locked the Director out of any control of the ship. Any way of getting away.”

“Then why weren’t Tex and Church interested in coming themselves?” Wash asked.

“Who _cares?”_ South growled out.

“I have the feeling that they knew that the real way this had to go down was…” Carolina turned the corner and stopped, holding out her arm to stop the other two behind her. 

The laboratory door was open, and a soft glow from a view screen was present. A familiar but forgotten voice was on repeat. Carolina refused to acknowledge it, refused to let it affect her. 

Slowly, she led the slow step forward toward the office. 

The Director did not even have the decency to turn and face them. 

“I am surprised you did not come alone, Carolina,” he said lowly. “Though I knew you would be the one to find me. I knew you would be the one to complete this program. My _work.”_

"Your work…” Carolina repeated, voice sounding so distant even to her own words.

“But I’m disappointed that you did not do this alone, that you didn’t have the strength to face me,” he said, setting down a bottle of what was no doubt whisky. 

“Fuck _you,”_ Epsilon exploded in anger, appearing over Carolina’s shoulder.

Carolina held up her hand to stop him from going further then looked to South an Wash. Both were watching her with suspicion. 

“I’m not alone,” she agreed. “Because it’s time _you_ faced the fact… I’m not the only one you’ve hurt, Director. It’s time for you to stop looking at the past, looking at that screen, and face _all_ the lives you’ve shattered. It only _starts_ with us.”

Her heart was pounding in her ears. She wasn’t even sure where she had found the words. But they worked enough – his chair turned to face them.

* * *

In truth, Washington wasn’t sure why he was even going with his former teammates. Following orders, falling back into old routines – _maybe._ But his mind was far from cooperative with the task at hand. 

He hadn’t had time to ask Caboose if he was alright, or help Tucker with the task Tex assigned him – which was really getting to him because there was that _thing_ with Tucker and not to mention that slight waver and lack of balance that was unusual even for someone as raw and untrained as the aqua sim trooper. 

And Tex and Church – he needed to know how they accomplished _whatever_ it had been that took out Maine at long last. 

When the time came for it, Wash’s mind was far from Freelancer for the first time in years. Even as he followed his former leader, his instincts were distinctly tied to other loyalties all together. 

The significance of such a fact was something that would be beyond him until later. 

Because Wash’s mind was filled with Blues and Reds until they hit the laboratory and that recording played on the wall straight out of his worst nightmares. Those images too familiar and real, that voice too haunting and terrifying. 

And there was a name at the tip of his tongue that Washington wouldn’t dare say as it filled him with longing and _rage._

“I’m not alone,” Carolina said boldly, breaking through Washington’s silent shock. “Because it’s time you faced the fact… I’m not the only one you’ve hurt, Director. It’s time for you to stop looking at the past, looking at that screen, and face all the lives you’ve shattered. It only starts with us.”

Washington was not ready for the man who caused _everything_ to look him in the eyes. And the Director also didn’t seem ready to give Wash that level of acknowledgement. 

His focus was on Carolina.

“You hope to make me _more_ aware of my mistakes by presenting me with the very agents who were given the _most_ opportunity?” the Director demanded. “That is a faulty plan at best.”

“Oh, fuck _you,”_ South snarled from the other side of Carolina as she stepped closer to the desk than either Wash or Carolina dared. “ _Most opportunity?_ You mean held to task longer than anyone else? Because everyone else fucking fled when they could? Can you be _that_ deluded that you think we _owe_ you for that?”

“He can be,” Wash answered before he could stop himself. 

And _that_ was when the Director at long last looked at him. That even, level glare, that knowing look. He seemed to _know_ something about the depths of the betrayal Washington had felt. 

"I am most surprised to see _you_ here, Agent Washington,” the Director admitted. 

“Believe me, there are _plenty_ of others who I’d prefer the company of,” Wash remarked coldly. “But it seems like we have to deal with the cards we’ve gotten. And I’m here to make sure that you’re held accountable for _everyone_ you’ve designed this project to hurt.”

“This project was not _designed_ to harm, it was designed to _preserve_ the best of the species,” the Director said firmly. “Or have you all forgotten that the war you signed up for was a fight for our right as a very _species_ to exist. Humanity was _losing.”_

“Stop trying to make this about anyone but _you,”_ South cut in coldly. “For fuck’s sake. At least have the _decency_ to acknowledge that we’re here for you, not for your moral posturing.”

Washington, though, could not let the comments stand as they were. His eyes narrowed as he kept the Director’s gaze. “There was no _humanity_ in what you designed, Director. Humanity did not _win_ through Project Freelancer. It was stripped from us. And it was stripped from anyone who opposed us in battle or in training to make living with what we were doing easier. That’s not _humanitarianism._ That’s _barbarism._ That’s ignoring how fucked up we were willing to become in order to pretend we hadn’t lost already.”

Whatever attention Wash had held slipped in those comments and once more the Director’s gaze fell on Carolina. There was something broken and pleading in his gaze toward her, where only hardness and disappointment appeared for Wash and South. 

“You have to know that what I did–”

“I know what you did,” Carolina said lowly. “And that’s enough to know there’s no excuse.” For the first time since they entered the room, Carolina looked up toward the screen that was playing on repeat. With her helmet on, Wash couldn’t see what expression she wore. And, yet, somehow, in the back of his mind, in a flurry of emotions and memories that were not completely his own, Wash _knew._ “You were so busy looking at the past, fighting for ghosts, you were never going to be able to fight for our futures. You were never going to support humanity. You supported what we lost. Never what we won. That’s… that’s not science. That’s not _right._ It’s just sad.”

“It’s _wrong,”_ Wash added. “And you might think it’s right because you hate yourself, but nothing you did to _yourself_ can excuse what you did to everyone else. You have to _pay_ for that. You have to pay for _everyone.”_

The Director seemed to be losing what fight had been left within him. At least, until there was an echoing click of a trigger.

"And we all know that there’s only _one_ person who’s actually going to be willing to make you pay,” South announced, her pistol aimed at the Director’s head. 

“South!” Carolina growled out. She looked legitimately shaken. “He’s our bargaining chip – the UNSC is coming _right now_ and handing over the Director is–”

Washington studied the lack of tremor in South’s arm, the way she didn’t even _flinch_ at Carolina’s screams. And he knew that this wasn’t a decision that _words_ were going to alter. 

The Director’s fate, and any hope Wash had of getting answers, were in South’s hands.

* * *

 _South,_ Theta said reluctantly, _I’m pretty sure this isn’t what the others agreed to._

Her gun was locked and loaded. Her finger danced on the trigger, lightly squeezing, just enough, _almost_ there. It was about to be all over. And no matter how _fast_ Carolina was or how _reasonable_ Wash would try to be, they couldn’t stop her. 

No one could stop her. That was the _point._

The Director couldn’t control her, and he _still_ couldn’t meet her eye when he could with Carolina – no surprise – and _Washington._ What was there for them that wasn’t for her? _How could he still make her care about his negligence toward her?_

Why did he have the power to tie her up in knots when she never surrendered that power to him willingly before? 

Eyes narrowed, South gritted her teeth. “It’d be more poetic if I was holding North’s rifle at your head,” she admitted darkly. “ _That’d_ be unmistakable. You couldn’t spin that another way. But then it’d just be about revenge for North. I got that already. This is about revenge for _me._ Once and for all.”

He still was not looking at her. South felt her jaw tighten. 

“Have you lost your mind?” Carolina demanded. “What bargaining chip do we–”

“Oh, shut up,” South snapped.

“ _Excuse_ me–”

“I won’t. I’m not in the business of excusing _anyone,_ least of all with this project,” South growled. “God, none of you get it still, do you? None of you realize that this isn’t about _leverage_ or about the UNSC. _Fuck_ the UNSC. Who do you think I’ve been working for? Who do you think North _died_ for?” 

Silently, both Carolina and Wash were staring at her in awe. They couldn’t believe it – South could _feel_ the reluctance they had to accept that South was capable of that level of double crossing. That level of ingenuity. 

It was enough to drive her up a wall. 

_They still couldn’t see how capable she was._

South wished she didn’t care as much as she did about it.

“I’ll cut to the surprise for you then since you both seem so starstruck by the notion,” South sneered. “The UNSC is ran by men _just like him._ And they’re not interested in ethics he broke or humanity he squandered. They’re interested in the _results he didn’t share._ They’re interested in the _equipment we use._ And if you think making deals with us to turn on him is easier to these people than us all conveniently disappearing into some prison sinkhole or being accidentally voided into space, then you’ve got another thing coming. They evacuated this planet, I’m sure you all noticed. But did you ever think of _why?_ Think of why they’d maybe want to get rid of a planet full of _potential witnesses?”_

"That’s not true!” Carolina spat back. “You’re making excuses for yourself so that you can continue watching out only for yourself!”

“South, there’s a way for _all of us_ to get out of this,” Washington tried to say levelly but South couldn’t help but interrupt them both with a laugh.

“God, you’re both idiots. You’re both _blind,”_ South said plainly. “Everything I’ve said is the truth. And even if I was just looking out for myself? How could I _not?_ No one else is going to look out for me. That’s been abundantly clear over all this time. And no one taught me that lesson more than this program, the likes of you, and _especially_ the Director.”

Still, he didn’t look at her. 

“Poetic justice,” South said simply.

“South, you do this and we’re all _screwed_ without exception,” Carolina snapped. 

“Death is to quick and easy, let him face a day in court,” Wash added.

 _South, remember North,_ Theta whispered through her mind. 

“I _am_ remembering North!” she snarled. 

“What?” Wash asked with a tilt of his helmet.

Carolina eased back. “You… you implanted your brother’s AI. Epsilon, why didn’t you–”

“Epsilon!?” Wash cried out. 

South ignored them and instead looked at her shoulder as Theta projected himself. There might not have been much in the way of expressions for the sprites the AI chose for themselves, but South could _feel_ the exhaustion and anxiety from him. It flowed through her in waves. 

“Remember how North went too far… and he wasn’t going to be able to come back no matter what,” Theta reminded her. “South… I’m scared because… _how far are you?”_

She kept her eyes on Theta while Washington and Carolina yelled back and forth behind her. Her nostrils flared under the mask, making the air grow hot and bothersome around her head. 

“Goddammit,” she snapped before ripping her helmet off with her free hand and keeping the gun aligned with the Director’s temple. “Look me in the face, you bastard. _Look at me for once, you stupid son of a bitch._ I’m the one who’s going to kill you, and I want to hear you speak to me.”

For the first time, the Director’s gaze fell upon South. She felt the full weight of those green eyes, the weakness in the deep bags beneath them. For the first time it was all turned on her. 

“Why?” she asked simply. “Maybe they don’t need answers. Maybe they already know. Maybe they just don’t care,” South remarked with a small nod toward Carolina and Washington as they finally quit squabbling and noticed what was happening right in front of them. “But I care. I want an answer.” She nodded toward the screen. “What was all this for? And spare me the talks of _humanity_ and _preservation of the species._ We’ve got about ten minutes before UNSC officers come storming the place. And you’re not going to make it that long if I don’t start hearing what I need to hear. _Why. Did. You. Do. This?”_

While the recording behind the Director played its audio incessantly, it might as well have been utter silence. All eyes were on them. All breaths were held. 

Even Theta had reflexively disappeared from South’s shoulder and into the retreat of her implants. 

“When I was young, I lost someone very dear to me,” the Director answered, his gaze unwavering even as Carolina and Washington shifted uncomfortably near them. “The war took her from me, and with her it took any beliefs and anticipations I had for the future. One life was all it took for me to realize that the ethics and standards which I once believed we all held ourselves to were arbitrary and explosive. That strength had to come from being willing to destroy what we wanted to build. And I did. I destroyed beautiful things, beautiful people, time and time again, and I created the sorts of soldiers and equipment that would sacrifice _humanity_ for the rest of the species’ preservation. And I found the types of people who psychologically fit the mold of people who would be willing or at least _capable_ of losing those restraints through our program.” He paused. “Then I saw a glimpse of what I had lost again. I saw a way to have both – to have the soldier _and_ what I had never hoped to regain. Anything less than _both_ objectives became failure in my eyes. _I_ … _I_ became the failure I had always felt I was.” 

South leered at him. 

“Does that answer your questions adequately, Agent South Dakota?” he asked grimly. “Because they are the only answers I could hope to give.”

Scowling still, South looked Carolina and Wash’s way. “I am _so_ sick of these cryptic-ass motherfuckers playing word games,” she informed them before shifting the aim of her gun and firing right into the Director’s right kneecap. “There he’s not going anywhere, and I left a knee for you, Wash.” 

“South! You crazy asshole!” Carolina yelled in shock at it all.

“Yeah, I know,” she said, putting her firearm away and turning to leave. “Let’s go grovel to the new leash holders.”

The other two did not follow, but Theta appeared on her shoulder all the same. He looked at her almost ambivalently. 

“What made you choose not to kill him?” he asked.

“Straightforward all of the sudden, aren’t we?” she asked back. “Trying to see if you can take credit for my sudden change of heart?”

“I know better,” he assured her. 

“It was his eyes,” South answered, looking ahead of herself. “They were of a man that wanted nothing more than for me to put that bullet between them for him. Do the dirty work, just like he _always_ assigned me to do his dirty work. I didn’t feel like he deserved the pleasure one more time.”

The little AI hummed and vibrated through her mind. “You decided _after_ you saw his eyes, though. It wasn’t just the eyes.”

South sneered at him. “What? You think you can psychoanalyze me just because you’ve been playing around in my head for a few days?”

“Nope,” he answered simply.

“Fine, it was _also_ what he said,” South answered reluctantly. “About how he let his losses overshadow any potential future.” There was a small silence between them as they advanced and South took that time to put her helmet back on. “Guess I let it get me sentimental for a moment or two. Thought too hard about it. Probably should go back and shoot him just in case.”

“I think we could stand to keep moving forward,” Theta replied. “And maybe shoot that fake body again if it’ll make you feel better.”

“ _That_ sounds like an AI that’s been hanging around my head for a few days,” South laughed. “But yes. I’ve got some things keeping me moving forward at the minute. Even if forward’s not exactly the _best_ directions for the long term. Guess we’ll have to find something else to substitute a purpose sooner than later.”

“I’m sure we’ll come up with something,” Theta replied. 

* * *

Washington stared after South as she calmly walked away and out of sight. “That woman is certifiable,” he declared. 

“Goddammit,” Carolina growled, checking on the Director. “He passed out – _and can someone turn that recording off!_ For fucksake.”

“On it,” a chillingly familiar voice answered her just before the screen behind them went blank. 

His attention drawn back, Washington stared at Carolina as she made a quick tourniquet for the man at the center of it all and worked along with the very thing that had brought Washington to his knees in pain and fury and psychological overload. 

“South is certifiable,” he reiterated. “But she’s also not wrong.” He paused for a moment. “And was thoughtful enough to leave me a knee.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” Carolina asked thickly. 

“No, the truth,” Wash answered, turning to her completely. “Though I guess that’s something you’re not so used to sharing, right?” When Carolina slowed but did not stop, Washington just let out a laugh and looked up, taking a deep breath. “I’m such an idiot… I… I was _so_ happy to learn you were alive. I thought you had been left and forgotten, overlooked. I thought you had a reason to not come back. Unlike everyone else.” He then looked to her. “But it’s worse than that, isn’t it? I thought I was alone. _Recovery One_ , the only agent trusted to recoup the project’s losses. The only living Freelancer who could be trusted to never stick one of those broken, damaged, barely reliable AI in my head. Well. I guess they were right on _that_ account.”

Carolina got to her feet, blood on her hands and gauntlets. She looked at Washington for a good long minute. 

“You had Epsilon before,” she pointed out.

“Briefly,” Wash replied sourly.

“Then you… probably have a clue. You probably have… a _feeling_ about what any of this means to me. What… having Epsilon with me could mean for me. More than anyone else ever possibly could,” she explained. 

“I want to hear you say it,” Wash said. “He was in my head long enough to make me doubt everything I thought I knew about myself. Long enough that I spent a year putting the pieces back together… and still couldn’t find out who I was until I got out from this program’s thumb and started to _truly live_ because of the people I met outside of it.”

“Because of the sim troopers?” Carolina questioned.

"Because of the _people,”_ Wash corrected her once again. “Christ, Carolina, tell me you can see that – tell me you can _hear_ the difference. There’s real people involved here that have been hurt. And if that can’t be acknowledged, if that can’t be treated with at _least_ the same levity as our own trials and tribulations, then we can’t _begin_ to pretend we’re any better than him and deserve this so-called _pass_ for our involvement.”

Carolina looked at him utterly bewildered, but she didn’t have an excuse at the ready either. 

“You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m… Wash, I’m sorry about a _lot_ of things.”

What she meant was, she was sorry that she hadn’t seen _his_ right to anger and vengeance and everything else either. He could almost accept it. _Almost._

But they had a long journey before that. 

“So are we going to… I don’t know. Tie him up with something and carry him out?” Wash asked, looking over the Director. 

“We _could_ just wait for the officers of the UNSC to get here and give them our story,” she said, crossing her arms. “It shouldn’t take that long for that group outside to explain things to them.”

Washington stared at her.

Carolina tilted her head. “What?”

“I… You honestly have no idea how ridiculous of a plan that is, do you?” he asked her, honestly baffled. Though, of course, he figured that what took _him_ fifteen minutes to deduce about the Reds and Blues _could_ possibly take longer for someone else. 

They _were_ outside of that canyon, after all.

“You don’t think they could give a simple explanation to the UNSC?” she asked him. “And _you’re_ the last bastion of hope for recognizing the humanity in everyone else we’ve been overlooking?”

“Optimism and realism should not be conflated,” Wash said dryly. “So what do you want? The shoulders or the legs?”

“Suddenly I’m realizing the evil genius that was South leaving before all of this was outsourced,” Carolina said, grabbing the Director’s shoulders. 

“Tell me about it,” Wash said, breathing a sigh of relief. 

The sooner they got off the ship of nightmares and horrors, the sooner Wash could put it officially behind him. And the sooner that he could see those idiots of his and ask how the hell Tucker gave birth.

After that, a stern silence fell between them. It was almost too surreal to think of the moment as it was.

He and the leader he once thought was dead were carrying the man he might have hated most in all of the universe, _alive,_ out toward the very military institution that he had felt for so long had turned their backs on him.

And while there was a rage of emotions swelling inside of him through it all, there was, at the center, a sense of calm thought. A hope and questioning that rested not on the facts of what he had lost and to who, and what would happen in the future that South had so terribly predicted. 

Just his thoughts of who were waiting for him outside the ship.

And they _were_ waiting for him outside of the ship. 

“Wash! Thank fuck!” Tucker called out the moment their feet hit the snow. “Come answer some of these guys’ questions, I have _no_ fucking idea what’s going on. And _Caboose_ isn’t any help.”

Wash looked at the scene, the UNSC had arrived and they were looking less than thrilled. 

Also Tucker was in handcuffs. 

“Tucker, why are you in handcuffs already?” Wash asked dully as he lowered himself to the ground with Carolina so as to put down the Director. 

“Well I figured I could save them for later,” the trooper snarked back.

“ _Bow chicka honk honk,”_ the tiny alien wrapped around Tuker’s leg cooed. 

Wash couldn’t help but smirk behind his helmet. “I have… _so_ many questions.” He glanced over to Caboose and Church… or _Church-Tex_ who seemed to be animatedly talking to themself. “Not the least of which is how _that’s_ coming along.”

“You want the short version or the long version?” Tucker asked. 

“It always ends up being the long anyway, doesn’t it?” Wash asked, something solid and _good_ feeling in his chest. Like he was cemented in the present no matter what was about to happen. 

It felt like he finally had his anchors.

* * *

Watching the Director’s back hit the snow felt alien and off putting to Carolina. It felt like more than simply his weight had fallen from her shoulders through the action, but she still couldn’t put words to the sensation. 

By the time she looked up, Washington had walked off. There was no doubt that he was still angry and resentful no matter the apologies. But more than that, he seemed to be gravitating toward the people he had befriended as well. 

So much so that he didn’t even seem to acknowledge that he was walking right past some UNSC military police. 

“Is that…” one of them uttered in surprise. 

“This is the Director of Project Freelancer,” Carolina spoke up, waving her hand toward him. “Doctor Leonard L. Church. He _is_ who the UNSC is looking for, correct?” 

They looked at each other then back to Carolina. “He is…”

“I and my fellow soldiers here worked very hard to bring him down. He’s a war criminal,” she explained lowly. “We’ll all be glad to answer any questions the UNSC may have, but I want it to be known that everyone here right now has worked in tandem to stop the Director and secure equipment from the program for the UNSC.”

The other guard tilted his head. “You secured equipment for us as well? How? Did you have some sort of connection to the UNSC?”

“No, it was our job,” Carolina explained. “I… Some of us are Recovery Agents. And we recruited necessary help from other soldiers in order to make sure that we could attain any UNSC property if possible. When the Director of Project Freelancer seemed to be working actively against that, we took action to make sure he was stopped.”

“Sounds risky,” the soldier replied. 

“It was,” Carolina answered. “But we are loyal to the UNSC. So I hope that you’ve been treating my compatriots well while we tied up _this_ loose end for you.”

They looked at each other again, then back to the aqua colored simulation trooper that Washington was talking to. 

“Do we have to take the handcuffs off that one and the extremely violent red one?” they asked her. 

“I… probably,” Carolina said, earning long sighs from them both. 

“Carolina!!!” 

Surprised, Carolina turned. 

She didn’t know _why_ it surprised her. It made sense, she had seen them just before she had gone back within the Mother of Invention. But somehow Carolina still managed to be amazed when she saw York and Niner not only there, still with her, but coming toward her. 

After _everything._

“Holy shit, it’s over?” York asked eloquently, carrying Niner in bridal position as he slowed to a stop just a few yards from the Director and the UNSC officers walking toward the man. 

“Holy shit it’s fucking _cold_ out here, how’d you convince me to get out of the tank?” Niner demanded, hugging her arms. 

“Because you wanted to get over to Carolina but every time that tank so much as bobs its canon, the entire fleet of UNSC officers flip their shit?” York offered just before receiving a punch to his shoulder. “Ow.”

“Don’t be a smart ass,” Niner warned. She then looked intently toward Carolina. “Are you okay?” 

Carolina stared at them. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m okay.”

“Bullshit,” Niner snapped. “Little computer fucker, get out here.”

Reluctantly, Epsilon showed up over Carolina’s shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Ae the both of you okay?” Niner repeated.

Epsilon looked warily toward Carolina then back to York and Niner. “Uh… define the terms?”

Niner let out an aggressive sigh and then waved Carolina closer. “Get over here,” she ordered. 

It wasn’t as if anyone could object to a direct command from the woman. So Carolina came closer and soon enough both she and York were hooked together by Niner as she squeezed her arms around both their necks. 

Carolina felt the other twos’ foreheads resting against her own, and again for the second time that day, her vision blurred before she squeezed her eyes closed and swung her arms around both of them as well. 

“Thank you for coming back,” she said. “Both of you. I… Thank you.”

“Sorry for leaving,” York whispered under his breath. 

“Sorry for staying,” Niner muttered lowly. 

“This… things are still different. Things… happened and I don’t know how to deal with all of it,” Carolina said, slowly backing away from the embraces. She looked at both of them. “I… There were a lot of truths said in that ship just now. Some of them harsh. Some of them could’ve served to be harsher. But they all made me realize that…”

“Made _us_ realize that there’s a lot of shitty things we’ve done to other people, on purpose or not,” Epsilon picked up for her. 

“I don’t know if I can… I don’t know if I’ll be happy until I make some real work on the road toward _good_ again,” Carolina explained. 

“Then you’ve got Jiminy and Cricket here to help wherever we can,” Niner said waving to herself and York. “Y’know. So long as it’s not things we’ve fucked up along the way, too. Like with Wash. We both have some headway on that one.”

York just kept his gaze on Carolina. “Where do we start, Boss?” 

“Well, I haven’t spent _much_ time around these guys,” Carolina admitted, looking to the sea of colorful armors around them. “But from what I gather… We start by mingling. Something tells me we’ve got a _long_ road ahead with all of these guys.”

Turning to look around at everyone, York coughed. “Right… uhhh So I’ve already been assigned to Red Team?”

Both women looked at him. 

“Just saying,” York shrugged. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to talk to Blues yet without being a turncoat–”

Niner punched his shoulder again. “You goofball.”

“I’m partially serious!” he laughed. 

Carolina shook her head and looked across, seeing where South and Wash had gravitated toward. They seemed like different people from the ones she knew, at least while they were out there with the Reds and Blues. 

Even South seemed relaxed, maybe hopeful. Maybe her pessimistic outlook was not going to come to pass.

They could only hope. At least until they stumbled into the next bit of trouble. 

Epsilon shifted shoulders in order to get Carolina’s attention and made a production out of giving her a big shrug. “Eh, Red. Blue. Whatever side you choose, you’ll have to deal with _me_ on it with you, Sis.”

“Sis?” Carolina asked with a quirk of her brow. 

“Well, I can’t call you _Cee_ all the time, Sunshine,” Epsilon replied. 

“I guess not,” she agreed. “I guess not.”


End file.
